


Where Time is Never Ending

by gutturalmess



Series: Deleted Scenes [8]
Category: CodotVerse, DC - Fandom, DCU, Rogues Podcast
Genre: A marriage of Jack Kerouac and Flannery O'Connor, Bad Guys Bein' Dudes, CodotVerse DCAU - Freeform, Gen, Now with updated cultural norms and ever so slightly fewer felonies, One Rogue Leads Another (Gotham Rogues tag), Pulling their strings (an Edward Nygma tag), Road Trip, Snake Oil (a Jonathan Crane tag), The Odd Couple (an Edward Nygma and Jonathan Crane tag)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 11:56:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20339719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutturalmess/pseuds/gutturalmess
Summary: Edward swam out freestyle, then stopped to tread water; he shook the drops off his glasses, exhaling as he looked around.It had been a long time since he had paused to stare at the scenery, or do something so pointless and frivolous as this. A very long time. He had initially considered chartering a light plane but when it came right down to it, he didn’t regret taking the drive - aching muscles be damned. Jon was loosening his corsets with every passing day: a mixed blessing but a net positive.However, thinking of his friend’s mental state inevitably reminded him of their eventual return.





	1. Ohio

**Author's Note:**

> Chronicling the boys' return home to Gotham; takes place between [_ROGUES 0118 - Hold Up_](https://roguespodcast.tumblr.com/post/182806253177/rogues-s01e18-hold-up-transcript-included) and [_ROGUES Best Served Cold Event - Episode 07_](https://roguespodcast.tumblr.com/post/186850054987/thecodotverse-rogues-best-served-cold-episode).
> 
> This will not contain what you might call a meaningful arc. There's no conflict or resolution here, apart from the spiked observations that are a benchmark of their interaction. The point is that this is a world apart from normal: a stasis. An oasis, if you like. This is their opportunity to get to know each other better, away from the noise and distraction of Gotham; whether or not this is a good idea is another matter entirely.
> 
> There will come a time in [_ROGUES_](https://roguespodcast.tumblr.com) when you might like to live here for awhile.

“Where are we?” Jon asked, glaring out the window. 

“Just outside Elyria,” Edward replied. “Close to Cleveland.” 

“Isn’t there some water near here?” 

“Yeah, Lake Erie. Why?” 

“Find some water, will you?” he turned to look at him. “I got an urge.” 

Edward’s face twisted in incomprehension. 

“A what?” 

“Urge. You know what that is, don’t you?” 

“I suppose so - I just wasn’t aware you still had them, like some kind of… human.” 

“Shut up and indulge me,” Jon snarled, looking back out the window. 

“Sure thing, pops,” Edward shrugged. “Haven’t got anywhere else to be right now.” 

Edward took them off the highway and into Lorain, poking at the GPS until it directed them to the nearest marina. 

“Huh. Not much by way of parking…” Edward mused, leaning over the steering wheel to peer ahead; Jon glanced over. 

The glare blazing right through the windscreen had turned his glasses dark, shielding his vision like sunglasses. 

“Neat trick.”

“Hm? What is?” 

Distracted, Edward turned his head, eyebrows raised; Jon pointed at his face. 

“Your glasses. Turned into sunglasses.” 

Edward stared at him a moment with his mouth open, and then started to laugh. 

“You know photochromic lenses were invented in the 1960s, right?” 

Jon scoffed and waved one hand. “Nah, I woulda heard about that.” 

“Good grief,” Edward snorted with laughter, shoulders shaking as he leaned on the wheel. 

“Don’t get out much, do you?” 

“Not in my sphere of interest, thank you.” 

“Ohh, neat trick…” he snickered, lifting his glasses to wipe his eyes. “That is adorable, truly.” 

Jon sat back in his seat and crossed his arms. 

“Just shut your hole and get me my water, jackass. Need to clear my head.” 

“Anything for the newly rediscovered human,” Edward said, flooring the gas pedal; they roared down the hill and bounced onto the pier, wooden boards clunking beneath as they raced over them. “Or would you call that a zombie?” he yelled, laughing. 

“Not sure this is the way down, Ed!” Jon shouted over the racket, gripping his door handle with one hand. 

“It is now!” Edward hollered back, pounding out ‘dah di dah dit’ on the steering wheel. 

“Watch the damn road, ya idiot!” 

“There is no road, Jon!” Edward’s voice hit new stridency, drama filling and expanding his chest. “There’s no beaten path! The unbeaten path beats us not, for we beat a new path, like men! Like manly, manly men!" 

Jon shook his head and looked out the window at the world whipping by, trying not to laugh so as not to give Edward the satisfaction. 

“Ooh!” Edward shouted. “Rocky path leading out! We’ll stop riiiight… ” Slamming down the brakes and bringing the car to a blistering halt, he turned to Jon with a manic grin and lifted his arm to gesture out of the window. “... Here. Your water, sah! Don’t spend it all in one place.” 

“Thanks, dickhead,” Jon said, yanking the car open and then slamming it shut; pausing, he leaned down to look through the window. “You can come with me, if you want.”

After a second’s deliberation, Edward shrugged and followed suit, quickly falling into step with Jon as they walked out toward the water. It was still relatively early in the morning, though closing in on noon and steadily pushing into the heat of the day. Spreading cacophony behind them indicated that certain people weren’t thrilled at their choice of shortcut and parking space, making Edward chuckle at the chaos he had created in their wake. 

“They don’t reckon there’s any parking down here, Ed, if I’m any judge.” 

“Physics is my only judge. Besides, I’d call it creative spatial thinking.” 

“Gonna cost you.” 

Edward shrugged. “Fines are just how much it costs to park wherever you want.” 

“Spoken like a true rich asshole.” 

“Thank you,” he grinned. 

The breeze picked up around them, cooling as it whipped across the water; Edward tilted his head into the warmth of the sun, closing his eyes. 

“Nice cool breeze on a damn hot day.” 

“Mm.” 

“Though you don’t get cold easily, do you?” 

“Nah,” Jon sniffed. “Burn hot most of the time - cold hands, mostly.” 

“The fires of spite in your belly keep you warm,” Edward said, sneaking a sidelong smirk; Jon nodded, face inscrutable as he tucked his glasses in his shirt pocket.

“Yeah, pretty much.” 

“Now, what was the reason for - “ 

Turning his head, Edward trailed off as he watched Jon throw his boots, socks, and near everything else aside to dive into the lake in just his underwear. 

“Huh,” Edward said, bemused. “Now, I have a couple of options here. I can either steal your clothes and take off, or… take the plunge and fuck up my hair.” 

In the end, he chose what would make a better story for later. 

“Ah, what the hell,” he said, shrugging. 

Unbuttoning his dress shirt, he draped it over a dry rock followed by his slacks, loafers, and socks before making a clean dive into the water. Jon meanwhile had swum out several lengths, eventually taking pause to stare up at the sky. Edward swam out freestyle, then stopped to tread water; he shook the drops off his glasses, exhaling as he looked around.

It had been a long time since he had paused to stare at the scenery, or do something so pointless and frivolous as this. A very long time. He had initially considered chartering a light plane but when it came right down to it, he didn’t regret taking the drive - aching muscles be damned. Jon was loosening his corsets with every passing day: a mixed blessing but a net positive. However, thinking of his friend’s mental state inevitably reminded him of their eventual return. Then water hit his face, dragging him out of his reverie and back into the present. 

“Why the face, slick?” Jon said, suddenly much closer. “Lookin’ more constipated than usual.” 

“Just lost in thought,” he said quietly; Jon dipped under the water and up again, shaking his hair like a dog. 

“Thinkin’ ‘bout your sister?” 

Surprised, Edward blinked. “Sometimes.” 

“Don’t blame you,” Jon said, snickering. “I think about your sister.” 

“Jon,” Edward warned, smiling, “I don’t necessarily _want_ to kill you, but if you point your spooky dick anywhere near my sister, I absolutely will.” 

“Spooky dick, huh?” Jon laughed. “Like that one.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

“Such a protective big brother.” 

“When I’m able to be.” 

“What’d you do when she was growin’ up?”

“I hit a kid with a socket wrench once,” Edward said, rubbing his face with one hand; Jon raised his eyebrows, interested. 

“Oh really?” 

“When I was about eighteen... she was fourteen. The little twerp set himself up outside Zuzu’s window with a camera,” he scowled with distaste. 

“Another Tetch, huh?” 

“Right? Lecherous little creep. Anyway,” he waved a hand, “I saw him coming a mile off; thought he was so fucking clever when he was as obvious as a thieving child. So I grabbed one of my father’s wrenches and hit him in the back of the head. Didn’t care if he lived or died.” 

Jon was grinning with amusement, now. 

“Which was it?” 

“Lived." 

"Tsk. Pity." 

"Probably. I left him under a tree so it’d look like he fell, then wrecked the camera. Tossed it and the wrench into the lake.” 

“They buy it?” 

“No other possibility was considered. After all, my goodness, who could do such a terrible thing to such a nice young man?” 

“How’d Susan take it?”

“Didn’t blame me for a second, despite seeing me do it.” 

Jon watched him intently; Edward gave him a tight smile, moving his glasses to the top of his head. 

“Zuzu clung to me like she could keep me from the bailiffs herself,” he huffed out a rueful laugh. “Never had someone react that way before, or since.” 

“Must love you, then.” 

“Yes,” Edward sighed, scooping up water to wash his face. “I suppose she must.”

Taking advantage of Edward’s far-sightedness, Jon made a face to see if he’d notice; Edward smiled absently at him, then lowered his glasses. 

“Problem?” 

“Nah, no problem.” 

With a snort of derision, Jon turned to squint back at the shore; Edward tilted his head to look at him, scrutinising the large black crow tattooed right across his back and down to his waist. 

“How long have you had that tattoo?”

“Huh?” Jon turned, looking over his shoulder. “Oh, that. Forgot it was there.” 

“Must have been during Rush Week, when you pledged Alpha Zeta Zeta,” Edward deadpanned, squinting at him in amusement. “How could you forget a tattoo that size?” 

“I wasn’t in the right frame of mind, at the time.” 

“Uh huh, that’s very specific.” 

“I was drunk.” 

“That tracks, but how did you convince someone to do it while you were drunk? Surely even tattoo artists have some code of ethics.” 

Jon gave him a sly grin. “No one says no to me.” 

“Oh yes, I forgot, you’re a cold blooded criminal,” Edward said, smirking. “Lock up your daughters and hide your chickens.” 

“Damn right.” 

“Now, that makes two urges, by my count - any more than that and I’ll have to check if your pulse has started up again.” 

“Ahh, shut your face,” Jon said amiably. “Race you back?” 

“You’re on.” 

They took off, strokes eating up the water; at the finish Jon edged him out and touched the rocks first, much to Edward’s chagrin. 

“What the hell? I’m fitter than you, dammit,” he cursed as they hauled themselves out and reclined on the rocks; Jon shrugged, grinning. 

“I mean look at me - I’m a work of art.” 

“Real Michelangelo’s David.” 

“Still got Jervis on the brain, there,” Edward laughed, giving him a shove. “It’s your long limbs, is what it is. Your spindly hands, reaching out like claws - look at those hands! Even your fingers are long. Well… longer than mine, anyway. Bonier." 

Jon cleared his throat, hiding a laugh. 

“Well, I don’t wanna brag, but…” 

“Shut up,” Edward grinned. “Why did I think I could compete with a goddamn human scarecrow? I never stood a chance.” 

“Not even in hell, sucker,” Jon said, shoving him back.

Edward chuckled as he looked out at the still water, smiling; with a contented exhale Jon closed his eyes, stretching out his legs to soak up the blazing midday sun. Several peaceful, companionable minutes passed until Jon broke the silence, looking like he was only speaking to the sky. 

“Y’know, when I was a kid, I used to spend my free time at Moss Lake. Back in Calhoun.” 

Edward remained silent: being a supervillain gave you an inkling for incoming monologue. Interrupting said monologue was like waking a sleepwalker - you best be ready for angry disorientation and flailing limbs. 

“Swimmin’. Fishin’. Climbin’ trees. That was one o’ the good parts of my childhood. Prob’ly the only good part, come to think of it. Got to be free of my old man, for a while.” Jon breathed out a small, melancholy sigh. “He hated Ikky. Used to lock her in closets when I was in school. She’d scream the place down, scratch and peck up the door - ‘til I found her to let her out.” 

_Even my old bastard wasn’t quite like that,_ Edward winced. _I just never got a pet, instead. _

"That's where she was, where he put her, the night he… passed," Jon smiled. “Didn’t help that Ikky wasn’t fond of him, either. Got all the crows ‘round town to dive bomb him whenever he left the house,” he chuckled fondly. “Clever girl, she was.” 

Edward closed his eyes and turned his head. 

“She’d come to the lake with me, too. Flyin’ alongside, or perched on a shoulder. She’d fuss over me, search for worms… she’d keep me company, and pass the time wit’ me.” 

Edward licked his lips, hoping that Jon would forestall opening his eyes; he felt sure the knowledge was writ so clear on his face that it could be read plain by anyone. Fortunately for him, Jon only sighed and finger-combed his hair out of his eyes, which were still shut under the warmth of the sun. 

“I miss her, Ed.” 

There was a pause; all was silent but for the chirping of cicadas and the gentle lap of water against the rocks. 

“Yeah, me too,” he managed, nodding.

Jon sat up, finally opening his eyes to look over at Edward. 

“Y’know, that hit the spot. Cleared my head.” 

“Good,” he said, grateful for the change in direction. “I suppose contrary to the ruling of several judges and advice from many therapists, urges shouldn’t always be denied.” 

“Whatta ‘bout the homicidal ones?” 

“Ehh, I’d call that a grey area - best decided on a case-by-case basis.” 

By now, the heat had dried their underwear; Jon pulled his jeans back on. 

“Happy to still get urges, to be honest.” 

“Mm. Shows you’re still alive.” Edward reached for his clothes. “All this exercise and clean living can make a man hungry. Can I tempt you to lunch?” 

“Yeah, alright,” he said, pulling on his undershirt and shirt. 

“Excellent. We can drip all over someone else’s seats instead of mine.” 

Pausing to let Edward pull on his dress shirt, Jon clapped a brief hand on his shoulder. 

“Thanks.” 

Edward nodded. “Yeah.” 

They climbed back up the rocks in silence, returning tread lighter than when they began. 

“Y’know, there’s somethin’ ‘bout lakes. Willin’ to take your sins, or somethin’.”

“They hide you like it’s a whole other world. It seems they’ve done us a few favours over the years.” 

“More than could be repaid.” 

“Ugh, my hair must look godawful,” Edward whined, fussing with it; Jon looked over and snickered. 

“Ehh, bet you could still woo a nun outta her vestments.” 

“That a challenge?” Edward grinned, showing shiny, pointed teeth; Jon shrugged. 

“Good luck findin’ one, but sure.” 

“I’ll remember that,” he chuckled. 

“Wait - make it a priest,” Jon said, shooting Edward a sly glance. 

“Any particular denomination?” 

“Dealer’s choice. You up to it?” 

“Certainly am. I’m guessing I’ll need to prove it, somehow?” 

“Yup. Bring me a souvenir.” 

Edward nodded, musing. “Alright.” 

“Then the deal is made.”

“Capital. Oh, by the way - you squelch when you walk. Just FYI.” 

“Yup. Got my damn boots wet.” 

“Should’ve left your stuff on the high ground.” 

“Never take the high ground, you know me.” 

“Touché. Mm, lovely word, squelch. I adore onomatopoeiae.” 

“You know - if I didn’t know who you were, your brain’d give me whiplash.” 

“Hey!” 

As they reached the end of the rocky pier, they were accosted by someone who was ostensibly a resident of the marina, who barged up and got in their faces. 

“What d’you think you’re doing?” 

“Whatever the fuck I want, sunshine,” Edward replied cheerfully; his hair fell over his forehead as he leaned forward, eyes amused and lit with provocation. 

The man reflexively reared back, stumbling. Casting a quick glance at Jon, he knew instantly there was no help to be had there; the look in his icy blue eyes made one feel like a cockroach that had crawled across his microscope slide. 

“What?” 

Laughter now dipping into sadistic, Edward pulled out his wallet. 

“Tell you what, little salty seaman. There’s a pretty portrait of Benjamin Franklin for you here,” he held the bill up between two fingers that waved back and forth like a hypnotic metronome, “if you tell me us somewhere decent to eat. Quickly, now - tick tock.” 

“O-other end of the pier,” he managed, pointing; Edward tucked the note into his top pocket and patted it with the backs of his fingers. 

“Good man. Now, since you’re here, don’t let anyone touch the car." 

"What? No way." 

"Or, and I cannot stress this enough, I’ll track you down and destroy everything and everyone you love without restraint or remorse. _Lei capisce?_” 

Momentarily stunned, he managed to say, “You mean capeesh?” 

Jon started to laugh, a low rumble that raised the hairs on the back of the neck. 

“No. No, I do not,” Edward’s eyes flashed; his smile took on a hard edge. “I said do you understand, my monolingual moron, or do I need to beat it into you, at length?” 

“I get it,” he hurried. “Yes. I understand. Whatever you say.” 

“Good,” Edward said, beaming a game show host smile. “If you’ll excuse us, then.”

The man’s face froze into a smiling rictus out of self-defense, all words dying in his throat as he watched them pass. It was a feeling that was hard to describe, but the closest was a sudden drastic demotion on the food chain. 

“That never gets old,” the taller one chuckled; the redhead laughed. 

“God, I know. Ooh, I fancy some wine with lunch.” 

“You want me to drive, then?” 

“No, we’ll just take our time, let it wear off… ” the redhead turned, grinning like a shark. “We have nowhere to be, and there’s a valet to mind the car.” 

“Lead on, then. Got all the time in the world.” 

They left, still talking. At one point the redhead let his head fall back as he laughed, a deceptively joyous sound; sunlight caught the gold tones in his hair. He was happy to see the backs of those two, even if it turned out to be a momentary reprieve. Something about them was disturbing, quite apart from the way they had acted. The taller one was a normal looking man apart from the vicious-looking scar, but that leisurely predatorial way he moved was like a lion on the veldt, prepared to wait for fresh meat to cross his path. Then there was the sharp stare on that redhead, cutting through you like he saw you as utterly disposable. And the way he _talked_? It was hard to reconcile the idea of such a handsome man being so savage. 

Exhaling heavily, he found a place to rest and sat on his shaking hands; he had a feeling he was going to be there awhile.


	2. Pennsylvania, Stop 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that he finds him interesting enough to observe, Jon starts taking a closer look at Edward.

“What d’you know, yer man stayed put.”  


“My threats tend to be memorable,” Edward mused. “The key is meaning them, I find.”

Jon cast a glance across; he was tapping at his phone.

“What’cha doin’?”

“Hotel reservations. I’m getting tired, we should stop soon.”

Jon stretched his aching back and flexed his stiff fingers around the wheel; he had to agree.

“Same room again?”

“Oh yes. I like to keep you in my sights.”

Edward turned his head with a small smile; Jon shook his head.

“Just tryin’ to get in my pants.”

“Ah, so that’s what a confession gets me. Never fear. If I were after you,” he bared his teeth, “you’d know.”

“I’m wise to you,” Jon said as, humming peacefully, Edward keyed in the address of the hotel into his GPS.

“There you go,” he said with an exhale, reclining his seat and closing his eyes. 

The combination of time spent under the sun, swimming in the lake, and taking down half a bottle of wine had served to weary him enough to crave sleep. Jon cast a quick glance over; a lock of hair had fallen over his forehead. With his shirt buttons only fastened halfway up and repose smoothing out his features, he looked more tranquil than Jon could recall seeing him. That pinched look he got between his brows, that twitch it amused him to inflict, that serious set of his mouth - they were all gone. While Jon was pleased at how vulnerable Edward was allowing himself to be in his presence, he had no idea what to do with that power, yet.

“What’s the place called, slick?”

“The Laurel Luxe,” he replied, eyes still closed.

“Any good?”

“No idea. I don’t get through Pennsylvania very often."

“Hm, me neither.”

“It had as many stars as I could get, if that counts.”

“Works for me.”

Jon had never had any desire to live large, as Ed liked to do - fortunate, since he never seemed able to hold onto money. And while he had no problem returning to his usual life of relative austerity, all this money being thrown around had been… what word would Ed use… soothing. It felt safe, and it was pleasant not to have to struggle at any point. He supposed that was one of the tools in Ed’s seducing kit. Show them a life they’ve never experienced, give them a taste of paradise, and then whip it away; he snickered. It was sadistic, in its way. If that was how he did it, of course.

“What are you laughing about?” Edward asked, opening one eye to look at him.

“Just thinkin’ ‘bout your methods.”

“Which ones?” Edward said, lifting his hands to drag back his hair before dropping them onto his thighs; he hadn’t even put his gloves back on after their swim. Practically naked, by his standards.

“Your seducin’ methods.”

“Ahh,” he said. “What about them?”

“Tell me - do you use your money to suck ‘em in?”

“I certainly do,” he said. “Not in all cases, but people are not as staunch in their morals as they like to think. More than sufficient amounts are very willing to be bought.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t keep many around long enough for me to need this trick, but usually I’ll leave them high and dry after a taste of paradise and watch them come crawling back,” he shifted in his seat, stretching his legs. “If they need a sharp lesson, of course.”

“I knew it,” Jon grinned. “Knew you had a good drip o’ sadism in you.”

Edward chuckled, eyes falling shut again. "Can’t be a decent villain without it. Or lover, for that matter.”

“‘Cept that trick wouldn’-” Jon started, then gave up; Edward had fallen asleep.

_That trick wouldn’t work on me_, he was going to say, driving on in silence. But then, Ed already knew him well enough to get that. He wasn’t scoring brownie points, paying for everything; he did it because he wanted to, and that paying for two rooms would arouse suspicion. Jon had quite forgotten how much of a wanted man he was until Minnesota, and had since appreciated the risk that Ed was taking, whether he was ordered to do it by Cobblepot or not. Jon glanced over at his dozing companion and nodded out a grudging admiration: he had to admit it, the man had style. More than he had previously bothered to think about, until he got a surprise from Ed and his little nurse. His curiousity itched to find out more about the encounter, but he would have to box clever around Ed’s discretion to hear it. The GPS promptly informed them that their destination was on the right; this woke Edward, who yawned and stretched.

“Are we there?”

“Yup. What d’you do in places like this?”

“Pull up front, we’ll see if there’s a valet to park the car.”

Sure enough, there was. With the pinched look on his face again, Edward warned the valet to be careful with it as he handed over the keys. Jon stood a ways off with his hands in his pockets, watching the cars go by.

“Hey,” Edward called, “you coming?”

“Huh?” he turned. “Oh, yeah.”

As Jon followed him in, Edward turned to grin over his shoulder.

“You let me sleep? No nightmares?”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I _do_ declare.”

Before he could snipe back they had reached the check in desk, so he settled for a light fist rapped against Edward’s shoulder. The receptionist gave him a funny look, but Edward laughed.

“Like being hit with a bag of dice. Hello there,” he said, beaming that toothsome smile and immediately disarming the receptionist, who leaned forward on the desk to get a better look.

_It’s so easy for him,_ Jon thought as Edward went through the check in process. _Like turning on a light switch… he’s useful to have around._

Edward jangled the keys in his face.

“Come along, _compañero_,” he announced, turning around again. “And thank you, my dear - a rare pleasure.”

The girl couldn’t have been more than twenty and totally unprepared for someone like Edward; she blushed, giggled, and stammered that if there was anything she could do, anything at all… he touched her hand when he thanked her for the last time: the gloves were back. Once they were safely inside the elevator and the doors slid closed, Jon spoke again.

“You could have that one horizontal at any second, y’know.”

Edward snickered, throwing him a sidelong glance. “Indeed I could. But where would be the sport in that?”

“Hmm?”

"Much better to keep her on the hook. Then I can see what lengths she’d go to to land in my lap.”

Jon shook his head. “How your brain works…”

“When your motivation is not to simply copulate, relationships become suddenly much more interesting.”

“I’m seein’ that, yeah.”

There was a pause as Jon considered this, and Edward considered the state of his gloves.

“Sirens are manipulative. Since you know them best, you think that’s how they work?”

Edward sucked his teeth. “Hm, not exactly. Take Harley, for example. Depending on the target in question, she’ll absolutely manipulate them to do whatever she wants, but she doesn’t always need to promise sex as a sweetener.”

“Unless that’s her goal,” Jon smirked; Edward inclined his head.

“Quite. Selena the cat lady sees no point in wooing, and is all about the copulation. But, her toyings are more to do with power than sex.”

“And Isley?”

Edward blew out a breath. “Rather tricky, that one. Doesn’t see much point to intimate relationships at all - for fun or for purpose.”

“Focused on other things.”

“Single-minded like yourself, yes.”

As they stepped off the elevator to move down the hall, Jon scoffed.

“Even I take time to get my rocks off.”

“So you’ve told me, yes,” Edward said, unlocking the suite door.

Jon took a look around as Edward lifted and dropped his overnight case onto the bed nearest the window.

“Does it meet your expectations, doctor?”

Gaze soon lighting on the refrigerator, Jon nodded.

“Oh, yeah. Somewhere to sleep, something to drink - I’m good.”

“I need to wake up before dinner,” Edward said, catching sight of his reflection and wincing. “I’m going to take a swim. The cold water ought to perk me right up.”

“Swimmin’ _again_?”

“Sure, why not,” he gave a blithe smile. “I don’t fancy using the gym.”

“You actually brought somethin’ to swim in?”

“Of course,” he flashed a grin. “Always prepared. And I’m sure the concierge could get you some of your own, if you care to partake.”

Jon considered rejecting the offer outright out of his usual streak of spite, but felt so unwound by the last few hours that he decided against it.

“Yeah, alright.”

Edward stopped still. “I could have sworn you were going to say no.”

“Just get the concierge on the phone, would you?”

"You do it,” Edward said with a wink. “No one says no to you.”

“How dare you listen when I talk,” Jon grinned; Edward laughed. “Alright, alright,” he said, reaching for the phone.


	3. Boys Will Be Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward bats away Jon's attempts to pry him open in favour of having some harmless fun, instead.

“So that bag o’ yours is bottomless, yeah?”

Throwing a towel over his shoulder, Edward threw him a conspiratorial look.

“Whether it is or not, I shall never tell - but you have to admit it’s not like they take up a lot of space.”

Jon cursed as Edward burst out laughing.

“Damn you for makin’ me look.”

“They’re just trunks. What were you expecting, some kind of,” he grimaced, “banana hammock?”

“Come on, you wear a thong.”

“Yes,” he said, pushing open the door, “_under_ my clothes. I’m not some common floozy, you know, flashing my wares for all to see.”

"Just for me, then.”

“Some would kill for that privilege: treasure that memory, you lucky devil.”

“Y’know,” Jon said, dropping his towel on a lounge chair, “I’ve thought about it - and I don’t think I will.”

Edward kicked off his shoes.

“Your loss. Besides, how could I be common? That’s your purview, since they don’t come much commoner than you.”

“Much obliged,” Jon gave him a dry smile. “So you’d say you're more of a high-class whore, then.”

“I’ll stretch to courtesan, but that’s as far as I go.”

“And not some common whore, like me.”

“You betcha,” Edward beamed, shoving him in the back; Jon turned as he did, grabbing his arm, yanking them both into the water where they landed with a yell and an almighty splash.

Seconds later Edward surfaced first, shaking his head like a dog. As he looked around the pool for Jon, he pushed back his hair. Then a clawed hand took hold of his ankle and pulled him under; he went down so fast, he didn’t even get the chance to protest. Spluttering and coughing on the ascent, he spotted Jon come up several feet away.

“Asshole,” he hollered, tossing his head.

"Polo," Jon replied.

Laughing, Edward swam further down to be within smacking distance, raising a hand to lash out. Jon narrowed his eyes, ready for it: then Edward splashed water in his face, instead.

“Hey,” he said, shaking his head to shower them both in droplets, “since we’re givin’ up secrets…”

Edward sighed, rolling his eyes. “You’re working on making me massively indiscreet again, aren’t you?”

“What’f I was?”

“If you were, I’d be compelled to take your trunks, lock you out of the room, and leave you naked and roaming the halls, free to frighten children and traumatise adults like the human scarecrow that you are.”

“Easy, killer.” Jon showed placatory hands and what he clearly thought was an innocent smile. “‘S nothin’ too invasive.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Wipe that rictus off your face and I’ll hear it.”

“Alright. Any o’ those notches on your bedpost belong to your henches?”

“Oh, God no.”

“Huh. Just thought, y’know, all that time you’ve spent with them over the years…”

“Everyone always assumes that,” he said, bored. “Not interested. Just ask me the next question, since your face is still begging to ask me _something_.”

“Sirens, then? Y’all used to be real thick, once.”

“No. You’re one-nil on that score. You might wander around a group of women using your dick as a divining rod,” he laughed, “but I don’t.”

“Not the worst thing I could do.”

“Don’t I know it,” Edward turned to look around the deserted pool. “Well, I’ve sufficiently refreshed myself. Time to shower, order room service, and start drinking again, I’d say.”

“Now you're talkin’,” Jon said. “But how come you didn’t ask me the same question?”

Counting off on his fingers, Edward shook his head and gave him a patronising look.

“Because I know about you and Harley, I doubt Pamela would so much cross a _street_ for you, and I figure that calling a former lover ‘the Cat Lady’ would be exceptionally forgetful, even for you.”

“Fair ‘nough,” Jon said with a shrug.

“No more questions?”

“For now,” he said, resting both hands on the side of the pool to raise himself out. “You should be happy I’m so int’rested.”

“I’ve caught the focus of the illustrious Dr. Crane.” Edward scrubbed at his head with a towel. “If I actually gave a shit, I’d probably feel like a worm on a hook.”

“Good thing you don’t, then. I assume you takin’ the shower first?”

They both wrapped towels around their waists, shedding and wringing out the wet trunks.

“We’re not in Arkham, so I’ve no intention of sharing,” Edward said as they walked back to the elevator. “You’d take all the water like a human taro leaf, anyway.”

“Yeh, prob’ly.”

As soon as they stepped out of the elevator, Edward snatched Jon’s towel and took off down the corridor like a hare.

“Walk of shame, my friend!”

Only turning around when he reached the suite door, he noticed with annoyance that Jon hadn’t moved, then stopped still when he noticed something else entirely. Dropping his head back, he threw up his hands.

“Oh, come on,” he yelled, “you were just in a _pool_.”

Jon shrugged, smiling; Edward threw the towel to the floor and slammed the suite door, muttering to himself.

“Makes so much _sense_, now…”

Jon shook his head and took up a leisurely pace back to the room. All Edward’s noise had made one woman open her door, who promptly gasped when she saw a naked man in the hall. The movement out of the corner of his eye made Jon turn to look: seeing someone there, he touched a knuckle to his forelock.

“Ma’am,” he said, and resumed his stride. 

She looked down, then up, then giggled and closed her door. Jon eventually collected the towel from the floor and covered himself up again, trying the door handle; to his mild surprise, it was unlocked. The bathroom, however, was.

“You didn’t lock the door,” he called through the door; Edward yelled back over the running water.

“_You_ took the fun out of it.”

Shrugging, Jon padded over to the telephone to take a look at the room service menu. He was still reading when Edward came out of the bathroom, redressed and combed.

“Foolish, really, to threaten shame on someone who has none.”

“Givin’ no fucks has its perks.”

“So, anything in particular you fancy?”

“You can pick,” he closed the bathroom door. “I want that shower.”

“It might not want you back, after me,” Edward said, picking up the phone; Jon reopened the door.

“And get more booze.”

“Already on it,” he muttered, shaking his head. “That’s just way too much for my vivid imagination to handle. Oh, my poor perfect memory won’t know what hit it.”


	4. The Missing Piece

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward finally puts two and two - or, rather, two and one - together.

“So much for the noble soul of the proletariat.”

“Whassat?”

“Lobster tails were the first thing you fell upon when this arrived - apparently a fragrant coating of butter and garlic is enough to seduce you right into the bed of the _haute bourgeoisie_.”

“Eh. I ain’t payin’ for it.”

“Hah! That’s the spirit.”

“Toss me another one, will you?”

“Heads up,” Edward threw a tail, but the slippery butter made it hard to grasp; after a moment of juggling and muttered curses, Jon took hold of the thing and rested it on his trouser leg. 

Watching this spectacle with great amusement, Edward rewarded him with a slow clap.

“Nice catch, dork.”

“Nice throw, nerd,” Jon retorted, digging his fork into the meat. “Now. Tell me…”

“Hm? What?”

“Shut up and gimme a chance to talk.”

“Fine.”

Edward pulled his pinched first two fingers across his lips, raising his eyebrows in petulant inquisition.

“Jus’ can’t stop yourself, can you?”

Edward shrugged, humming out an atonal tune between his pursed lips.

“Alright.”

Jon paused: Edward looked at him expectantly.

“Goddamn it, you have the loudest silences of anyone.”

Edward blinked at him, all wide-eyed innocence, then moved his fingers at him in a ‘get on with it’ gesture.

“Alright,” he repeated. “This discretion of yours. Does it apply to all things that’ve happened to you, or just things you think should be secret?”

After a pause, Jon sighed and took a slug from the full-size whiskey bottle he had been given.

“You can talk now, for fuck’s sake.”

Smiling, Edward unzipped his mouth and refilled his own champagne glass.

“Well,” he said, thinking as he spoke, “I’d say it was the latter. To say the former was true would be quite hypocritical and demonstrably false.”

“Then my next question is, what’s a secret, to you?”

Edward grimaced. “It’s not easy to quantify such a thing. Surely any response could only ever be deemed subjective.”

“Yeah, that’s why I asked what secret is - to _you_.”

“What is this all about, Jon?” Edward asked suspiciously. “Are you trying to delve into my psyche for some specific purpose, or is this just for kicks?”

“Honestly?”

“Sure, why not,” he took a gulp and then refilled the glass.

“I’m curious about you and that nurse.”

“Laura?” Edward chuckled. “Now that is a secret. It would be unutterably tacky for me to talk about the girl in cavalier terms.”

“She means somethin’ to you, then?

“Hm,” he paused. “No, but my personal doctrine on the subject overrides all else.”

“So, despite your lack of feelin’ for the girl, what she symbolises is more important?”

Edward toasted him with one hand and a nod. “There you go. I was a gentleman for her,” he coughed, “mostly, anyway. Thus, I feel that I must always be.”

“If, then, you happened to fuck a more… open kinda woman, let’s say…”

“You can say slut, Jon,” he hiccupped. “It’s fine.”

“Is it?”

“Oh yes,” he waved a hand. “All depends on how it's used, but there's nothing wrong with sluts, in my book.”

“Mine either,” he grinned. “Preferable, I reckon.”

“Mileage tends to vary. So what was your question?”

“Right, right. If you happened to fuck a slut, then you might talk about it, after?”

“Probably. If they were willing to talk about me, then I could be open to inquisition, I suppose.”

“How ‘bout a question ‘bout your… performance?”

Edward waved his empty glass in his direction, narrowing his eyes.

“Only if they don’t get _too_ specific.”

Jon smiled and scratched the side of his nose, then took another drink.

“Wha’s a question you’d answer… huh. How would you rate it?”

“That one,” his eyes glittered, “must actually _be_ specific. Me, her, or both.”

“But you won’t answer all o’ them.”

“Correct,” he laughed, moving to refill his glass.

“You know you can just drink outta the bottle, slick. Save a step.”

“Do I _look_ like someone who - oh, fuck it.”

Tossing the glass away with the subsequent tinkle of broken glass, Edward took a long drink straight from his champagne bottle; Jon grinned.

“Atta boy.”

After disguising a genteel belch behind his hand, Edward fixed his gaze back on Jon.

“Verdict? What’s the question?”

“You. Rate yourself. That’s the only one you’ll answer, right?”

“To the winner go the points,” he grinned, “for you are correct.”

“Answer is?”

“Hmm,” he dropped the empty bottle on the floor with a _thonk_. “I give myself an eight out of ten. Not my best performance, but by no means my worst.”

“Next question. Your goal is never to get off, right?”

“Right,” now he was throwing grapes into the air and managing to catch every other one in his mouth.

“So what was the goal?”

Edward flung a grape at Jon’s forehead, face suddenly serious.

“To grind my half witted, malignant, son of a bitch father into the dust by way of him hearing his faggot son fuck his beloved nurse insensible.”

Jon nodded, all approval. “That’s what I thought, but hearin’ it put into words like that is jus’ somethin’ else.”

With his face calm and mouth curved up in recollection, Edward stared up at the ceiling and took a deep breath.

“It was the only defeat he could understand. Everything else about me he could write off as me being a freak, but that -” he breathed out a harsh laugh, “that will be burned into this brain until the second that he dies. I’ll be torturing him right up to the very end.”

Nodding again, Jon had to admit that it was certainly cruel and sadistic - right on brand for Ed, he was rapidly discovering.

“I get questions now,” Edward declared, rolling onto his side.

“Alright," he was intrigued. "Go on, then.”

“Did you fuck my henches?”

His cadence was matter of fact and with not one movement of his face did he signal any feeling; Jon smiled.

“Yes.”

“Which one?”

“Both of them.”

“I knew it,” Edward said, shaking his head with a laugh. “I fucking knew it.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure you did.”

“For the last short while, yes, I did.”

“Oh yeah?” Jon finished off his whiskey and let it fall to the floor. “What tipped you off?”

“When I heard that woman in the hall giggle at you, it got me started,” he said. “I started thinking about it in the shower… it was like trying to remember the name of that actor you may or may not know in that film you may or may not have seen. Then it hit me like a bolt of lightning a little while ago.”

“Whassat?”

“It reminded me of Query and Echo and their gushing “ooh, hello, Dr. Crane” nonsense. There was clearly something about you they knew that I didn’t.”

“Maybe they were just respondin’ to my nat’ral charm.”

Edward threw back his head and burst into a howl of laughter so prolonged and so genuine that for some time he couldn’t speak; rolling around the bed and clutching his stomach, he begged for mercy.

“Stop. Oh, it hurts. Ow, ow.”

“You dickhead,” Jon laughed, unable to truly get mad: his laughter was infectious.

“Jonny boy, you dear, sweet thing,” he wheezed, recovering. “Allow me to crush your delicate pride: it’s not your charm. It’s because your dick is fucking huge.”

“That a compliment?”

“Looked more like a fact, to me,” he said, lifting his glasses to wipe his eyes. “And I know my henches: they’ll do anything once.”

“Well,” he shrugged. “Got that goin’ for me.”

“There had to be something special about you. You must really reel in the thrill-seekers,” he said, still chuckling. “Like Harley, hmm?”

“Right on,” he nodded. “You don’t mind, then?”

“Hell no: they’re not my possessions. Besides, the fact that I didn’t know until now means they kept quiet about it. Which is good, because I really couldn't give two shits what they do in their spare time. Or whom, for that matter.”

“Not a bad deduction for a drunken fool,” Jon said, stretching his legs out on his own bed.

“A good deduction for a _sober_ fool,” Edward pointed a wavering finger at him. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the other thing.”

“Other thing?” Jon’s forehead crinkled.

“You asked why I didn’t ask you the same question.”

A grin crept across Jon’s face. “Ah.”

“I saw that little smirk you got when I only mentioned the Sirens. I hadn’t got at my henches, but boy, I guess you had.”

“Bet your sweet ass I did. Well, ain’t you clever?”

“Bet your stupidly large appendage I am.”

“Not jealous, are yeh?”

“Envious? God no,” Edward nestled down into his pillows. “I’m a finely tuned machine the way I am. Besides, it would completely ruin the line of my slacks.”

“Priorities, right there. Do we do anythin’ with this stuff?” Jon gestured vaguely at the ransacked remains of the tray; Edward waved him off, setting his glasses on his nightstand.

They can pick it up when breakfast comes.”

With a yawn, Jon crossed his arms across his chest; Ed was already dozing so he was free to study him. Just like an onion, he thought sleepily, pull away one thick layer and you’ll find more subtle layers underneath. Might make other people cry, he smiled at his own joke, but not me.


	5. Quid Pro Quo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the spirit of paying for what is owed, Edward had to hear about Jon's history eventually.

The tall trees of Pennsylvania whipped past the windows as the green Buick ate up the blacktop with easy greed; as it was his turn to drive, Edward did his best to focus only on the present moment instead of any passing thought that rose up and multiplied in his mind.

“I always forget how much of PA is covered in forest,” he said, absently; Jon had been staring out of the window for the last twenty minutes without making a sound, so he didn’t expect a response.

“‘S about half the state, or somethin’.”

“It speaks.”

“Yeah, somethin’ I wanna ask ya.”

“Oh God, what now?”

Making his face a tragic mask, he threw a despairing look in Jon’s direction, who snickered.

“I've been thinkin', and it occurred to me you don’t like bein’ called Eddie too much.”

“With some exception, obviously - you’d know, since they’re the same ones who call you Jonny.”

“The ones you let ‘cause it sounds OK when they say it.”

“So what’s the question?”

“Why don’t you like it? Name’s harmless enough.”

“Do you like being called Jonny?”

"Depends,” he picked his teeth. “Joker says it ‘cause he knows it annoys me.”

“Yes, same here. Though he gets very little joy from it.”

“Still tries.”

“Never stops.”

“Waylon’s alright ‘cause you know he doesn’t mean any harm.”

“Indeed. It’s him being affectionate; telling him not to would be like kicking a big green puppy.”

“As for Harley, she gives ev’ryone some kinda term of endearment.”

“Hm. Though she could start calling you Spooky again, I suppose.”

“I’ll take Jonny.”

“That is an upgrade. And I’ll take Eddie, instead of Riddles.”

“I don’t like bein’ called Jonny ‘cause I’m a grown ass man and it makes me sound like I’m fuckin’ five.”

“Or the head of a gang of hotheaded 1950s bikers?”

“Or that. But you always say your name’s Edward, and you don’t like most nicknames. What’s with that?”

“Alright,” Edward sighed. “But it’s not such a monumental story to tell. You perhaps noticed that Susan called me Eddie?”

“Nah, can’t say I did.”

“If you had met my father, you’d have heard him call me Eddie. My mother would too, I expect.”

“Mm.”

“I don’t necessarily hate the nickname, it depends on who’s saying it.”

“But…?”

“But, I never felt the term was affectionate, when used by family. The name felt like it was supposed to knock me down to size, like it was intended to be disparaging.”

“Even Susan?”

“God no, she’s the exception who’s all affection,” for a second the rhyme made him smile. “But my father, well... I don’t give him so much credit as to have this reasoning as his conscious motivator, but I felt like the name was meant to shrink me in size. Diminish me, somehow.”

“Huh.”

“Like when someone asks what a name is short for,” he went on, gaze becoming unfocused. “Of people who’ve had their name hacked in half or more. Is there more to these people that you can’t see, or did they extract a part of themselves so no one could see it at first glance? Were they merely hidden from view, or were outlying aspects of themselves removed by choice or necessity?”

Noticing they were drifting across the centre line, Jon reached out a hand and tapped Edward’s forearm; he took a breath and refocused, steering the car back into the proper lane.

“Anyway,” he squeezed the wheel. “Like I said, not a monumental story.”

“Hmm.” Jon looked over; Edward could see that he was being scrutinised out of the corner of his eye, but refused to acknowledge it. Being the new, proud owner of Dr. Crane’s full attention was something he was more than aware of, but he was damned if he was going to let Jon call the shots.

“Clearly, we’ve deviated from the original point, here.”

“Whassat?”

“That your own name means Gift from God,” Edward said, throwing him a sly look.

“The hell d'you know that?”

“Because I know everything, didn’t you realise?”

“Forgot for five seconds,” he said, with the expected eye roll.

“So what say you?”

Jon grunted; Edward smiled and shook his head.

“Come on, big guy. You’ve interrogated me plenty this last while - indulge me.”

Huffing out a breath, Jon turned his face to the window.

“A gift from God and a hated historical figure,” he said bleakly. “They really had a good laugh on me.”

“You never considered the thought that you could be named for James Joyce’s _Ulysses_, or even Odysseus?”

"In Georgia?” Jon scoffed. “Fat chance.”

“I would have. Why wouldn’t you choose to be named for Odysseus the Cunning? Sounds good to me.”

“If you knew my father, you’d know it was just another way to torture me.”

Edward paused and blinked, unsure he had heard right. Jon didn’t go in for exaggeration: if anything, he was the opposite.

“Sorry, _torture_ you?”

With no trace of mirth, Jon laughed. “Look. Y’know what I do.”

“Your _raison d’être_? Scaring people and studying them?”

“Yeah. Well, more or less, that was my childhood.”

“Example?”

“Gave me a bike for my eighth birthday, but yanked the brakes out. Didn’t find that out ‘til my first downhill ride.”

Edward wasn’t sure what to say; after a moment, he knew there was only one response.

“Why?”

“To study my reactions.”

“What about your mother?”

On the subject of his mother, Jon’s eyes were as flat as any treacherously calm ocean.

“Said my sufferin’ was God’s will.”

Edward scoffed. “Of course.”

“Let him go about his business, like was curin’ cancer or somethin’.”

Like father like son, Edward thought, knowing it would do him no favours at all to bring that up. Jon could be a fool, but not that kind of fool: he knew the implications of his own family history. Face carefully blank so as to show no hint of mockery, Edward brought the car to a stop and turned in his seat. The road was devoid of traffic, but it wouldn’t have mattered regardless: he was interested now, and didn’t care for the existence of the outside world.

“He gave you that scar, didn’t he.”

It was less a question and more an affirmation; the final piece of a puzzle that had laid elusive for many years. Jon never said where he got the scar, and it was deemed folly to ask: at best he would lie, at worst you risked having a strip torn off. Though Edward could have put his father on the list of ways Jon could have gotten the wound, it would only have been a baseless hunch. Now that he knew what kind of a man Crane Senior was, it was obvious and he wished he could have known it sooner.

“Well done,” Jon nodded. “Yes, he did.”

“Did he attack you?”

For someone who made an occupation of scaring his only son half to death, a wild swing with a knife seemed unprovoked, at least to him.

“I attacked him.”

Ah. Self-defense then, or more likely rage at being attacked by his lab rat; the animal finally biting the hand that feeds.

“We all break eventually,” Edward said. “I was eighteen. And you?”

“Eleven.”

“Precocious.”

“Wit’s end. Tried to kill him, finally… strangled him half to death.”

“What stopped you?”

“Mama sayin’ she’d call the sheriff.”

“Not a threat that would hold water with you, now.”

“Damn right. Shoulda just killed him then; she left after, anyway.”

“Leaving you behind?”

“Yup.”

“And the scar?”

Jon stared straight ahead like he was reading off a script.

“So’s I know my _place_.”

_The father gouges a path through his young son’s face out of malice and the mother just runs away. Humans, indeed._

“Did he keep at you?”

“After that, no. Almost got somethin’ of a life, after she left. Possible I scared ‘im.”

“And maybe he didn’t think she’d actually leave.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“So yours backed off around the time mine was just getting started. Funny.”

“It’s a hoot. Hey. Now you know, what’ll you tell me about your own mother? There was no stop to see her in Minnesota, I know that.”

Edward’s face changed, bitterness distorting his features.

“At best she was complicit, at worst she was a facilitator. Always wanted that perfect family, perfect image on the outside to show we were keeping up with the Joneses, but completely unable to face the very real disaster that was in her own home. Small-minded, _bourgeois_, cowardly woman - and those are only the first words that come to mind.”

“‘S very succinct.”

“Yeah, well. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it.”

“When you're a few bottles in?”

“Damn right.”

“You hate her?”

“More than that," he shook his head in disgust, his mouth turned down. "I already can’t stand a hypocrite, but one who wilfully lives with her head in the sand? I despise her.” Edward closed his eyes and breathed the fire out through his nostrils. “Do you?”

“I’m sure if I thought about mine at all I prob’ly would.”

An approaching car swerved wide to avoid them, honking furiously; without interest, Edward waved his middle finger at them in the rearview, remaining otherwise still in a contemplative moment; the only sound was the wind through the trees and the rumble of the idling car.

“Ghost of a mother, ghoul of a father,” he said, softly. “What a thing to have in common.”  


Jon rested his head back against his seat and smirked.

“Least we weren’t screwed up by it.”

Closing his eyes, Edward dropped his head to laugh. “I’ve got nothing to say to that.”

“Yeah, it’s prob’ly safer.”

“That’s quite a story to keep under your hat. No one knows this about you, do they?”

“Nope.”

“Not even Dr. Quinn?”

“Bits and pieces. Didn’t tell her all of it,” Jon shook his head. “Besides, I was more unstable, those days - she dealt with that.”

“I suppose one man _can_ be an island, then.”

“Wait, I tell a lie. Hugo Strange knows.”

“I stand corrected.” Edward’s brow wrinkled. “Strange? Why?”

“Psych eval. Was on his say-so whether or not I’d get my medical license.”

“I imagine you included the part where you helped your father into his grave?”

Finally, Jon's heavy expression lifted and he chuckled. “Sure did.”

“And he passed you, after that?"

"Said he'd be watchin' me."

"Sounds like Strange, alright. He must have found you simply _fascinating_.”

“Eh, I got nothin’ on Harvey Dent.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Strange’s obsessed with Dent.”

“There’s a feather in his yarmulke. And here Strange only ever showed a cursory interest in me,” he sniffed. “I feel I should be offended.”

“Nah. He prob’ly sussed you're mostly just criminal instead of a mental case, like me.”

“Now I am offended.”

“What for?”

“Means my ruse didn’t work. Feh.”

“Don’t worry, Ed,” Jon teased, clapping a hand to his shoulder. “You’ll always be a wacko, to me.”

“You’re so supportive,” he grinned, shaking his head as he put the car back into motion. “Let’s find somewhere to get coffee.”

“Aw shit, are you tryin' to make me like you by butterin' me up or somethin'?”

"Lord no, never," he said, feigning shock. "I just figured some coffee would shut you up for a while."

"Get me a bucket of coffee and enough pastry to choke a Frenchman and we'll talk," Jon said, then pointed at Edward. "Or better yet, we won't."

Spotting an off-ramp that led to a rest stop, Edward took the turn with a grin.

"Oh, you've got yourself a deal."


	6. Pennsylvania, Stop 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment outside of time and reality, where consequences cease to exist.

“Hey Ed.”

From his sitting position on the hood of the car, Edward turned his head in the direction of Jon’s voice coming from the passenger seat.

“What?”

“Found some cigarettes in your glovebox.”

“Of course you did, you raccoon,” Edward said, shaking his head. “Zippo’s in there, too.”

“Already there,” Jon said, joining him on the hood in a puff of smoke. “Mm. Shove over.”

After a scoot sideways, they settled and stared at the sky.

“Hey,” Jon exhaled, “whatcha got cigarettes for?”

“You have to ask? You’ve been to prison,” Edward snickered. “They can be useful.”

“Sure was useful to me.”

When Edward turned, his glasses had gone dark again from the glare.

“Gimme that,” he said, snatching the cigarette from Jon’s hand before he could react. 

Stunned, he watched as Edward took a drag and lifted his chin to exhale a plume of smoke high and slow through pursed lips, the sun catching the outline of his profile; with his other hand, Edward raked his fingers through his hair to tousle it into disarray, springing loose a couple of curls. When he caught a glimpse of Jon’s face out of the corner of his eye, he took one more quick drag and handed the cigarette back with a lopsided smile. After placing the cigarette back in his mouth, Jon let it hang there. It was some time before he could speak again, and it was not what one would call the cracking open of stellar repartee.

“What?”

Edward relaxed his legs out into a splayed position and lifted one to rest a foot on the bumper; lazily he flicked open the first few buttons of his shirt.

“Words are beautiful things, Jon,” he murmured, curling up to soak in the sun. “They love to be used, not simply admired from afar.”

“_What?_” Jon said, more insistently. “... _When?_”

“I suppose interrogatives are one place to start,” he chuckled.

“Fuckin’ confusin’,” Jon muttered, then leapt up in annoyance when a clump of burning ash fell on his jeans; he brushed it off with his hands, cursing.

“You’re not the only one who’s a study in control, big guy,” Edward said, watching him with amusement. “I’m just better at it.”

“I s’pose we all have to be,” Jon conceded, sitting down again. “Or they’d never let us out.”

“Indeed. Controlled madness, the veneer of calm… those docile, placid faces that society loves to see. In my case, it’s a certain continuity of personality that I fake.”

“Yeah, but since when d’you smoke?”

“I don’t really,” he said, shaking his head. “It was always just a sporadic habit. I haven’t smoked since… what, my early twenties? Before I really made it.”

“Ah yeah, back when you knew Tetch.”

“I used to smoke, he used to have an eyebrow ring,” he snorted. “At least one of us got more interesting, over time.”

“‘S weird, to see you relaxed,” Jon mused, shooting him a sidelong glance. “Didn’t think you were capable.”

“Even I unbutton eventually,” Edward leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “When it’s safe. It’s simply always been when no one else was around.”

Jon coughed and flicked the cigarette butt into the road. “That a compliment?”

“You know it is, you lanky bitch,” he said with a short laugh.

Cicadas chirped; the sun was beating down with enough force to make the horizon shudder, despite it starting to dip down to the west.

“Question,” Jon said.

“Shoot,” Edward said, turning to look at his face.

“Why the façade?”

“Easier.”

Used to getting a virtual treatise for an answer instead of a snappy one, Jon blinked in deprived surprise; Edward grinned at him, all smug expectancy.

“Does that answer your question, doctor?”

“Fuck, fine,” he shook his head. “_Why_ is it easier?”

“People already know what to expect, when they see me. Prissy, dramatic, insufferable genius.”

“That’s ‘cause you _are_ those things.”

“Sweetheart,” Edward smiled, socking him on the shoulder. “The façade is just those traits turned up full blast. Told you before that I amplified myself to spite my Pops - I’ve been in the habit for so long, it’s second nature.”

Absently, Jon rubbed at his shoulder. “People have to dig to find you, huh?”

“I’d rather they were put off by the conspicuous ‘Keep Out’ sign, like usual,” he said, squinting into the sun; Jon thought about this, and then held up a finger in accusation.

“Except for your sister.”

Edward looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Hm? What about her?”

“Knows you, doesn’t she?” Jon leaned sideways to give him a nudge. “The real boy.”

“Yes,” he grudgingly admitted, nodding. “She does. And she hates it when I put on an act.”

“Why’s that, you reckon?”

“Inherently honest,” he shrugged. “Probably feels like cheating, somehow.”

“What, she _never_ lies?”

“Only by omission, as far as I know. I doubt she’d be given the firing squad for that, in the circumstances.”

Looking around with a smile that Edward didn’t catch, Jon leaned backward and rested his palms on the hood.

“Ehh, one last cigarette in the sun wouldn’t be the worst way to go out.”

“Mmm,” Edward scratched the side of his head, then turned. “Ooh, question.”

“Sure.”

“Who was the first person you killed?”

Jon tensed, looking over to give Edward a critical look, who reared back, defensive.

“What?”

“Not bugged, are you?”

“No, of course not. Besides, the real story is the _last_ person you killed. And I know that one.”

When all he received was a doubtful look in reply, he continued. “Hey, give me some credit. I’d hardly want to crucify _myself_ in the attempt, would I?”

“S’pose,” he shrugged; Edward grinned.

“You know, since I just keep proving you wrong, it looks like you’re going to have to trust me one of these years.”

“Be the last thing I do, no doubt,” Jon muttered; a flash of real irritation whipped across Edward’s face.

“More issues than _Time_ magazine,” he snarled, glaring fit to burn a hole in Jon’s gritted cheek. “Are you going to tell me, or not?”

After a moment, Jon dropped his hunched shoulders and sighed.

“I’m assumin’ you mean with my own hands, yeah?”

“Yes,” Edward said with a tight smile. “Your patricide is off the table, since you keep saying you were,” he made air quotes with his fingers, “‘only there when he died’, so we’ll count that one as your warm-up stretch.”

“Alright. It was durin’ my residency. Our Lady of the Seven Sorrows Medical Center, back in Georgia. After Strange cleared me.”

“Mm-hm.”

“My toxin was still in its infancy, y’see. Was workin’ out some pretty big kinks in the base formula, in those days,” he smiled fondly. “Practic’ly primitive. Since I had no money for chemicals, I’d just take them from the hospital.”

“Makes sense.”

“One night, ‘nother doctor caught me at it,” his tone twisted sarcastic. “Said he was gonna _inform the medical board_, throw me out. Well, since I wasn’t willin’ to lose... well, everythin’... I knocked him out and took him home.”

When he spoke, there was a smile in Edward’s voice.

“How long did he live?”

“Hour or so. Like I said, formula was primitive. Mighta been allergic to the Sulfa Drug it used to have in it, or coulda been I pushed him too far… regardless, poor li’l candle burned out too soon. Took all my notes, dumped the body, and went on with my life. Verdict was overdose, far as I know - like most o’ mine.” Turning to Edward with a twinkle in his eye, he grinned. “So I guess more testin’ was needed.”

“Perpetually, it seems.”

“Wanna have another go?”

“No, fuck off,” Edward shoved him sideways with a laugh. “But at least you asked, this time.”

“I’m a peach. Now, you gotta know my next question.”

“Naturally,” he said. “All things must be fair and equal.”

Inhaling, Edward sat up and stretched. “I’ve been asked that one before, publically. I answered with my usual non-answer, in that so many blackmail,” he air quoted again,”’victims’ take themselves out of the game, and that could be construed as technically my fault.”

“Any names?”

“God no. Who keeps track of that? Besides, we agreed on killings done with our own hands.”

“Right. Then what’s the real answer?”

“You never forget your first,” Edward smiled. “Though it was still related to blackmail, of course. That was my first proper lesson in refining my manipulative methods: people backed too far into a corner can react in surprising ways.”

“Wha’ happened?”

“I’d been pressing a certain Senator with information that he had used public funds to bankroll his taste for prostitutes. What was particularly delightful about that case,” he chuckled with gleeful recollection, “was that I was pressing his wife, too - she had been having a raging affair with their tennis instructor that would see her penniless, if her husband slung her out.”

“Heh. Marriage at its finest.”

“Oh, yes. That pair were such pretty earners. Anyway, I met with him in his office one night when it seemed that he finally reached a limit. Drew a gun on me, the panicky fool.”

“How’d it go?”

“I threw a paperweight from his desk at his hand to knock the gun out of it,” he said, voice becoming dreamy in memory, “picked up the nearest blunt object and beat him to death with it. I only meant to subdue him, but…” he shrugged out a sheepish _mea culpa_, “I got angry and carried away.”

Jon laughed. “Very nice. How’d you get outta that?”

“It all came together quite neatly, in the end. After a moment’s thought I put his wife’s incriminating evidence on his desk, left the weapons behind, and made myself scarce. I was already wearing gloves in those days, you see - being careful.”

“Bein’ paranoid.”

“Potato, po-tah-to. Irrespective, my plan was a success: the wife had an alibi, the tennis instructor didn’t. He was arrested and charged with the crime a couple of days later. Murdered the husband to have the wife all to himself, they said, chose to act when confronted with the evidence. As far as I know, he’s still in prison now, protesting his innocence.”

“Oh shit,” Jon said with a grin, “_that_ Senator. That was you?”

“Guilty,” he held out his wrists in a handcuffed gesture; Jon slapped his wrists, snickering.

“Y’know, they never said in the papers. What was the weapon?”

Edward threw him a sly sidelong glance. “Tennis racket. It was sitting beside his desk. My only concern was that it might have been too facile for the police to believe, but apparently they didn’t agree.”

“Where you sorry?”

“Only for the loss of two solid marks and an excellent pair of gloves, since I had to burn them. Though it occurs to me that the Mrs must have been grateful. At least she should have been: she got almost everything she wanted.”

“And, there’s always the pool boy.”

“Or the yoga instructor.”

“Or the psychiatrist.”

Tickled, Edward laughed; thus infected, Jon had to join him. They settled into a companionable silence and allowed it to envelop them; Jon turned to look at Edward, who had his face tilted up, smiling with his eyes closed like he was showering in sunlight.

“You wanna go?”

He didn't even open his eyes; his voice was low, soothed.

“Mm. Soon.”

“Yeah,” he said, looking around. “Soon sounds good.”


	7. Old Number Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The problem with the world is that everyone is a few drinks behind._

The jukebox was playing The Stranglers’ _Peaches_, while the bartender whistled peacefully along to himself. It wasn’t terribly busy - the place was only about half-full, most of them regulars - so the bartender was quite content to polish the glasses without haste. A shadow covered his hands when someone approached the bar, so he looked up, and then up some more, to rest his eyes briefly on that scar, then remembered his manners and moved his gaze to the rest of Jon’s face.

“Hey. What can I get ya?”

“Whiskey,” Jon said, settling on the stool. “Tennessee. Straight, no ice.”

“And none of the gut rot he usually drinks,” Edward said, appearing beside his companion and leaning forward as he pulled out his wallet. “Spare the rod and he’ll never learn.”

Thus encouraged, the bartender gave Jon an appraising look then lifted an unopened bottle up from underneath to rest on the counter.

“I reckon you look like a Gentleman Jack fella, to me.”

Jon looked at the bottle; a ghost of a smile played upon his lips.

“Since he’s payin’,” he jerked his head in Edward’s direction; the bartender turned with raised eyebrows and another inquisitive smile.

“And for you?”

“Old Fashioned,” he said, laying down bills. “Bourbon. Sugar cube. Stirring rod, no garnish.”

“No garnish?”

The needless repetition earned him a tight smile in return. 

“Only gets in the way when you intend to drink more than one.”

“Ah, so a connoisseur, then.” 

“I want you to keep us liquid as possible.”

“Can do.”

“Let me know when this runs out and I’ll top you off,” Edward said, handing over the neat sheaf of bills. “I do so hate to be left hanging.”

“You got it, chief. Be right up, okay?”

“You betcha.”

Edward took the stool beside Jon, running one hand over the bar; it came up clean, so he gave a grudging smile. 

“Pass your test, priss?”

“Superficially. The proof is in the drinking.”

“Amen to that.”

They lifted their glasses in an informal toast. Barely had any liquid had passed their lips before a female voice piped up on Jon’s immediate left.

“I hate to interrupt, but…”

“I’m sure you’ll manage to do it anyway,” Edward muttered, resting the glass against his mouth.

“You’re Dr. Crane. Right?”

Instead of looking to the left Jon glanced over at Edward, who rolled his eyes. 

“Maybe.”

“I’m such a fan,” she gushed. “I’ve read all your dissertations.”

Both men blinked and turned to each other in mild surprise.

“Your work is virtually unreadable,” Edward hissed, “it’s like wading through dry sand.”

“No shit, that’s the point,” Jon hissed back.

“Then you think she’s one of those fans?”

“Specifically?”

“Stats say the people who approach a Rogue either want the alter ego, or they want to be bad by association. What do you think?”

“Lemme take a look.”

Jon finally turned his head to receive his uninvited guest, and she smiled: she was pretty enough, with youthful looks and blonde hair tied loose off her face. She was young enough to be a college student, so that checked out. Whether she was after him or his persona was harder to judge at first blush. Using a trained eye, he took in the shirt tied at the midriff, denim skirt hung low on her hips, and the cowgirl boots: those were all red flags that she was familiar with his name and his face. But the way she was standing, with one hip jutting out and one shoulder lifted, that’s what pushed it over: she knew something about him that wasn’t present to the casual onlooker. With a small shake of his head, he turned back to Edward.

“By the looks of it, I’d say she’s tryin’ real hard to look like what she thinks I want. Way too prepped.”

“Very insightful, Holmes. You into it?”

“Fuck no. Got no time for that.”

“Better scare her off, then.”

“Hello…?”

Once again, they had paid attention only to each other, to the detriment of the rest of the world: they turned to the girl, having quite forgotten she was there. Edward gave his friend a tap on the shoulder with the back of his hand by way of a cue, so he cleared his throat.

“How ‘bout you run on home to mama,” Jon said, rolling his glass in one hand; the coppery liquid swirled and threatened to spill over, but stayed safely in the glass. “You wanna rebel? Get yourself a leather jacket an’ a Ramones CD, and leave me in peace.”

“Four, five, six, seven,” Edward managed before he choked, covering his mouth with his hand until he had safely swallowed. “All good cretins go to heaven,” he laughed; she whirled on him, the summary dismissal making her defensive.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?”

Good humour visibly dropped from his face like a shed skin.

“I’ll tell you. This guy bangs any bitch with a pussy and a pulse,” Edward said, leaning hard on his plosives to shape them into virtual gunshots. 

Recoiling, she opened and closed her mouth in surprise. As he tilted his head, he widened his eyes and smiled - every bit the Cheshire cat savouring her discomfiture under his searchlight beam. 

“What a lucky thing you are to be rejected by the biggest rake this side of the hay loft."

Jon looked over, a small smile playing on his lips.

“Rake, Ed? You sure?”

Almost immediately Edward’s expression lifted, affable companion once more.

“What, because rakes are supposed to be wealthy?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Well, one could argue that the proud name of your father has come to ruin,” he said, tossing him a smirk. “And with it, the family fortune lost to the sands of time.”

“Jus’ had to make it pretty, huh?”

“I can put it plain,” he snorted, “ya broke motherfucker.”

“Hey, I’m rich in fear,” Jon paused. “Bitch.”

“Then your fortunes have surely undergone a restoration,” he said, a good third of his face becoming a smug grin. “Making you… a Restoration rake.”

Jon wheezed out a laugh, dropping and shaking his head; gaze caught, Edward looked over at their hovering visitor. 

“Good Lord, you’re still here. Where’s your instinct? Your self-preservation?”

They waited for a response, but got none: either too intrigued to leave or too petrified to run, she could only stare, speechless, mouth opening and closing much like a hooked fish. Jon tilted his head over to murmur for only Edward to hear.

“‘Spose a shock’s out of the question?” 

“Never,” he all but purred, interest spiking at his features. “You lead.”

Jon swivelled his whole body around to stare into her eyes, leaning forward; once he was sure she was both transfixed and uncomfortable, he spoke. His voice came out a soft rumble, more a feeling than a sound.

“Run.”

Sitting perfectly still, he fixed her in place with his unwavering stare and said nothing more, allowing the silence to flow out around him like mist. Now she finally looked afraid, twitching a little as she breathed; looking from one man to the other, she deliberated between which she could turn to. When her gaze settled on Edward, he slowly turned around in his seat and started to sing, a low, ominous purr that Jon took up a beat later when he realised the tune. 

“Run rabbit, run rabbit,” as one they sang, unsmiling. “Run, run, run.”

Finally taking her cue, she fled. Snickering, they turned back to face the bar and knocked their glasses together companionably.

“Must have tickled some kind of evolutionary echo there,” Edward mused.

“What, somethin’ of the small and fluffy still sits in her soul, yeh reckon?”

“Mm, her flesh has yet to forget the teeth of the fox: a little pressure and it rips right open.”

“Leave some pretty shit for the rest of us, Byron.”

“Pretty?” he touched a hand to his chest, offended. “Please, that was sexy and you know it.”

“Shut up,” Jon laughed, pointing at their half-full glasses. “Down in one.”

“Beat you there.”

The instant their empty glasses were slammed down, they were replaced with new, full ones; Edward shot a sidelong grin at Jon as he licked the alcoholic sheen off his lips.

“You can get used to being waited on, huh?”

“Don’t usually like my hand held.”

“But… ?” he said, rotating the fingers of one hand; Jon inclined his head in conciliation.

“This one I like.”

“There you go. A potentially never ending stream of hard liquor? If you’d said otherwise I’d have assumed you were dead.”

“Now you’ve drunk it, they pass your l’il test?”

“It definitely passes. Mind you, if they had a filter to block against unwelcome intrusions… maybe some kind of pool skimmer? Then it’d be perfect.”

Jon snorted. “Fuckin’ groupies, man,” he muttered, shaking his head. 

“One’s reputation does tend to spread far and wide,” Edward said, sweeping a loose hair off his own shoulder. “Rather like your subjects.”

Jon sipped at his whiskey, lolling it around his mouth before swallowing.

“Proud o’ that one, are you?”

Edward leaned over to give him a sly nudge. “Aren’t you?”

“O’ you? ‘Course I am,” Jon grinned, ruffling Edward’s hair until he ducked away and smacked at him with both hands.

“Get off me, loser,” he laughed, finger-combing his hair back into place. "But still. You, pass on groupies? And here I thought you didn't discriminate."

"Don't. But I don't do repeats, neither."

"Hm, true. They do tend to be attached to a preconception of you. Once could never be enough: they want to be the one."

"Yup,” Jon threw a sly glance across. “Like li’l Laura?”

“I’d like to say she’s more of an admirer than a fan.”

“I bet you would. What happens when she turns up on your doorstep?”

Tilting his glass back and forth between his fingers, Edward thought about it.

“That’s a good question.”

“Unfortunate accident?”

“Most likely,” he said. “Anyone single-minded enough to find out my address isn’t usually careful enough not to be followed.”

“That the only reason?”

“No, she’s also spent her limited use and I have no interest in bullshit parlour games.”

“Hm,” Jon said, observing Edward, who looked back with amusement.

“That is,” he lingered on the words, “the smile of a vivisectionist.”

“Jus’ int’rested.” 

“That’s what I said.”

“Risky move, for you.”

“That’s not news to me,” eyes twinkling, he shook his head. “I fully acknowledge that it was reckless and dumb. But damn me if it wasn’t one hundred percent worth it.”

“Good to see ya do somethin’ stupid.”

“Naïve, not stupid,” Edward laughed. “I draw a very clear line at stupid. Why are you so interested, anyway?”

“'Casionally,” he gestured vaguely, “I like bein’ a psychiatrist."

"Could’ve fooled me. But, for all you know, Harley could have been a groupie."

"Nah, more like a Girl Scout gettin’ badges," Jon said; Edward looked at him with interest.

"That’s quite accurate. Did you know that beforehand?"

"No," he admitted. “You did, though.”

“Takes a faker to spot one.”

"Mm. Showed herself durin'."

"You're such a sucker," Edward tutted, shaking his head. "You know, if your brains were in your dick, you could have a chance at beating me."

“Right,” he held up both hands in a solid stop sign, “listen, fathead. Some people wanna have sex. Just to have the sex. Not to fuck around with ‘em, or, or, or to fuck around with someone else. Or both.”

Edward tipped the last of his drink up with a smirk. “Sounds boring, but go on.”

“Ya know Harley well. Yeah?”

Edward’s eyes flickered. “Well enough.”

“Objectively,” Jon held up a finger. “Couldn’t ya agree that maybe… pretty much any straight-thinkin’ man…”

“Who wasn’t me,” Edward interrupted, grinning.

“Like you know what straight means,” he said, thumping his shoulder.

“Hey. Hey. I’m almost certain it at least means five cards in one suit.”

“Nonetheless,” Jon said, insistent on getting his point across, “maybe they’d think her too good to pass up.”

Jon gave him an expectant look, eyebrows raised; Edward pondered this. Tilting his head in an appeasing manner, he held up both hands.

“Objectively, yes, I suppose I can see that.”

“Hah.” 

“Mmm,” he pointed, swallowing. “You should tell her that, one day.”

“Tell her wha’?”

“That no man in your place could’ve said no,” he winked. “She’ll love it.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Intrigue.” Edward shrugged, all innocence. “You’re the one who wanted to know how I do.”

“Don’t wanna give her any ideas,” Jon said, resting his elbows on the bar.

“What kind of ideas?”

“Fuckin’ ideas.”

Edward laughed. “_You_ don’t know her well, do you?”

“Seems less and less,” he said gloomily, settling his cheek on one fist. 

“I doubt our girl Harley still has a yen for your freakish endowments, big guy,” Edward slapped his hunched back in what he must have thought was a hearty fashion, shoving him forward. “She got it out of her system.”

Jon winced and straightened. “So what, then?”

“She’s in the habit of continually baiting her hook - she’s not always looking to catch, but she loves a bite.”

“So I should butter her up… why?”

“And here I thought psychiatrists liked mind games?"

"Mm, true."

"You'll knock her gyroscope off-balance. Our girl gets a peculiar thrill when things get weird, and you being charming…” he said, barely suppressing a laugh, “is about the weirdest thing she’ll see all day.”

“I can never tell if you’re on my side or not,” Jon said with a wry grin.

“I’m buying your drinks,” Edward retorted, picking up his newest glass. “How much more proof do you need?”

“Touché,” he said, lifting his own replenished glass. “Cheers.”

“In Quinzel fashion, _sei gesund_.”

“Yiddish?”

“You betcha.”

“What about Harvey?”

“Oh, he can choke.”

Jon lurched forward and did just that, spluttering whiskey through the sudden eruption of mirth; Edward laughed, watching.

“Ohh, don’t fuckin’ do that,” Jon coughed, rapping at his sternum with one fist.

“What, surprise you?”

“Yeah. Goddammit.”

“When that’s what I get? Bet your ass I’ll do it again.”

“Ya bitch,” he wheezed.

“Mm, and just think,” Edward chuckled, tracing one finger over his glass, “instead of spending the night with the best bitch you know, you could have gotten your end away with some other bitch. Regret that?”

“Don’t need to get laid right now,” Jon tilted his glass in his direction. “I’m in a bar, I got a big bottle of Jack just for me… if you weren’t so fuckin’ ugly it’d be ideal.”

“That’s just your reflection in my glasses. You should really work on that self-esteem,” Edward said with a grin. “Are you sure?”

“Not so hard up for a lay that I need to dip my wick in the groupies.”

“I resent that implication,” he gave Jon a nudge, snickering. 

“Which one?”

“That I could ever need to have sex to feel normal, that my work on Laura was just me feasting on some gormless groupie… take your pick. I resent everything you could and might be implying. Whatever you’ve got, I resent.”

“I can respect that,” Jon laughed.

Some time and the bottom of their respective bottles later, they left the bar and made their meandering, unhurried way back to the hotel.

“Hey,” Edward said, weaving like a tightrope walker, “you want to know something neat?”

“Neat to you or neat to me?”

“Only one way to find out, old man.”

“Yeah, alright. Go on.”

“Right. Since we mentioned Harvey, before,” he hiccupped, “a coin toss is decided by physics, not probability.”

“Meanin’?”

“With a bit of practice, you can rig a coin toss to land however you want.”

“Huh.” Jon fell silent as he considered it. “You think he rigs the toss, then?”

“Fuck no,” Edward laughed, cannoning off a nearby brick wall into Jon and grabbing hold of his shirt lapels. “Harvey thinks that shit is… is… _preordained_. He hands over his free will to the coin, like a moron.”

“His choice, ain’t it?”

“The goddamn irony of that statement, you wilful provocateur,” he shook an amused Jon with both hands, wild-eyed and grinning. “Harvey has no free will and he doesn’t care because he still believes in such schoolgirl fantasies as… fucking _justice_.”

“Deep breaths, lightweight,” Jon said, giving him a not-unkind shove backward.

Edward inhaled and collected himself, straightening his own shirt and adopting an air of affronted grace.

“For your information,” he waved an index finger, “I have drunk about a fifth of bourbon, by myself.”

“Like I said,” he shrugged.

“Could still shoot the eyebrows off a rottweiler, if I felt so inclined.”

“I’ll take that bet.”

“Alright,” he pulled out his gun, cocked it, and threw Jon a suggestive look as he spun the gun around his finger.

“Where you want it?”

“It’ll go off in your hand, you’re not careful,” Jon drawled, making Edward laugh.

“That how you talk to your partners, get them all warmed up? Oop, sorry - ” he waved a hand. “Not partners. I mean the vessels…” he dissolved into giggles, “... for your mighty vessel.”

“Don’t fuckin’ need dirty talk, Ed. You know why?”

“Oh, oh wait,” he waved his arms, gun still in one hand, gesturing grandly at the empty street. “I know what he’s going to say, everyone, and so do you,” he laughed and turned around, his face and body open in expectation. “Here it comes…”

Jon paused, shaking his head and trying not to laugh; then he gave in.

“Got my dick to do the talkin’.”

“There it is!” Edward reached both arms out straight, tapping his fingers together in a golf clap. “Give him a hand, folks - no, give him two! Maybe even three, to cover the length!”

“Shut up down there!”

A voice belted down from on high, brisk and irate; Jon and Edward turned in the direction of the voice, and then to each other, mildly surprised that anyone else existed.

“Yeah,” Edward yelled down the street. “Go home you hooligan, you’re waking the whole neighbourhood with your juvenile antics!” 

Somewhere nearby, a window slammed closed: Edward turned back to Jon, who was watching him with his hands in his pockets, grinning. 

“Talking with your dick sounds like a neat trick. Is it throwing your voice or some kind of puppetry?”

“Works more like shuttin’ ‘em up,” said Jon, thoroughly entertained. “Pity I can’t do the same to you.”

“Not even in your wildest, stupidest fantasy,” Edward shook his head and moved his flat right hand in a loose question mark sign. “Now enough dicking around, say where.”

“Fine. Shoot that trash can,” he paused for effect, lips twitching. “If you can can.”

Edward’s shoulders curled in as he giggled; Jon waggled his eyebrows, pleased with himself. 

“Hoo, but it’s the deadpan that always gets me,” Edward said, fanning himself with one hand; then he straightened up with a sharp inhale through his nose and pointed toward the street corner ahead. “You mean that can?”

“No, I mean that can,” Jon gestured to the end of the darkened alley on his right; Edward sized up his opponent.

“So is this a broad side of a barn type deal, or do you have a kill shot in mind?”

“Hm. How ‘bout the Adam’s apple.”

“Hey, a slow and painful death. That sounds like you,” he said approvingly. “Let’s hope the thing’s full.”

“What for?”

“If not, the bullet will burn right through and ricochet God knows where.”

“Live dangerously and find out, then.”

“Alright, here goes.” 

Edward squared up, bit his lower lip, squinted, and fired. As they watched, the bullet went straight through the can, ricocheted off a brick wall, and shattered a window. After a moment of silence wherein Edward covered his mouth with one hand to muffle his laughter and Jon looked up at the surrounding apartment buildings and waited, the same voice from before returned.

“That’s it, I’m calling the cops! Fuckin’ kids!”

Unable to hold his mirth in any longer, Edward put his gun away and then immediately broke into a run. The ringing click of his loafers echoed off the nearby buildings, and the natural motion of the perpetual fugitive returned to his limbs like a reflex: like it had never left.

“Come on, big guy!” he called over his shoulder, “forgotten how to run?”

“Why’d you have to take off like that?” Jon huffed, soon breaking even by virtue of his long stride, “Gettin’ too old for that shit.”

Edward grabbed hold of Jon’s left arm, dragging him along as he turned the corner; within moments they were out of sight. Distant sirens threatened arrest or casual menace, but not for them. Feeling it was safe to do so, they eventually stopped under the light of some streetlamps and caught their breath. Jon took longer to recover and wheezed as he did, while Edward was still hooting with laughter.

“Call yourself a Rogue,” he breathed, grinning. “All we used to do was run.”

“Yeah, used to,” Jon managed, hunched over. “Things change.”

“You’ve spent too long chained to a pack of cigarettes and a bunsen burner is what it is. You’ve gone soft.”

“Not to mention a busted leg I got from savin’ your dumb ass. Bones don’t knit like they used to.”

“Don’t think I’m not _frightfully_ grateful. Oh, my hero,” he said, clasping his hands and fluttering his eyelashes. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“Tch. You do it to yourself by bein’ such an asshole: I never get kidnapped.”

“So, _igitur_, you’re not an asshole?” he laughed in disbelief. “Please. You’re just not interesting enough to kidnap. Well, that and you’re a biter.”

Jon gave him an unimpressed glare; Edward gave him an irritating smile.

“Just you wait ‘til next time you piss someone off,” he pointed at Edward, “see who turns up to pull your feet from the fire.”

“It’ll be you,” he nodded, quite certain. “One way or another.”

“Ah, but you forget.”

“Hm?”

“Sometimes I really wanna see you suffer. Like right now.”

“And I you, old man.”

“How sweet it is.”

“Well, we’re all a little bit sadistic, aren’t we?” Edward shrugged. “Comes with the territory.” 

“That's fair. But what makes you so sure it’ll be me?”

“Just you wait,” he wiggled his fingers mystically. “I’ll be right, like I always am.”

“Won’t have to wait long to find out.”

“Oh yeah?”

“We’ll be back in Gotham tomorrow,” Jon said, nodding up at a nearby clock. “Today, I guess.”

“Yup,” Edward said, his tone flattening as his good mood dissipated. “I guess we will.”

There was clearly something up with him but Jon didn’t care to look into it; he was buzzed and feeling better than he had in some time. He looked around the deserted streets, at how light hissed out of the street lamps like mist in the sky, becoming pools of liquid on the ground. The buzzing of insects, the clattering of stray cats and raccoons in the alleyways… the nightlife of a city felt peaceful, in its way. While they were alone during the dead hours in an unfamiliar city, it was like two wolves being alone: you could afford to stop and take your time when the worst thing in the world was you. 

When he turned back to Edward, who was watching him in silence, he gave him a genuine smile.

“Y’know, this could’ve gone a lot worse.”

“Faint praise indeed,” he said, then nodded. “But I agree. We could have killed each other a thousand times over, by now.”

“Why haven’t we?”

Edward shrugged.

“No idea. Maybe being away from home has been good for us.”

“Yeah. This has been alright,” Jon said, extending his hand. “Thanks.”

Without hesitation Edward took firm hold of his hand and shook it, eyes turned dull under the wide beam of golden light. 

“My pleasure.”

“So,” he rubbed his hands together, “since we’re in the area, where d’you think I can get a cheesesteak this time of night?”

“Oh, no no no,” Edward said, coming back to life and shaking his head. “Don’t you dare.”

“Why not?”

“There’s only one bathroom in our suite.”

Jon gave him an evil grin. “Well now I have to. Come on, we’re on vacation.” 

“I suppose I’ll deign to watch you eat it,” he grimaced. “But that’s it.”

“Come oooon, live a little, slick.”

“Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll see if they have a big pretzel or something.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Starting off walking again, Edward put a serious hand on Jon’s shoulder.

“My friend, I feel there’s something you should know.”

“Whassat?”

“If I have to shepherd you onto the balcony at gunpoint, I will.”

“Fair 'nough.”

“So long as we understand each other.”

“What a terrifyin’ thought.”

Edward laughed. “I know, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'loose question mark' sign that Edward makes is ASL for 'never'.


	8. All Good Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _No beauty shines brighter than that of a good heart._

Edward kneaded his temples, moaning under his breath. At this time of day he was glad for the diner windows that were facing west, but that was the only thing he could muster gratitude for; he slumped forward onto his elbows, hands covering his face.

“Hey,” a voice said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Feeling too pathetic to shake off the unwelcome touch, he dropped his hands and looked up with bloodshot eyes into a pair of warm brown ones: it was the waitress who had smiled at him when he slunk in. She was fifty if she was a day with dyed red hair, shocking pink lipstick, and a soft swell of bosom rising out of her uniform blue gingham that he longed to rest his head on in order to sleep forever. 

“Seraphic apparition,” he croaked, clutching her free hand with his. “If you give me some of that black coffee you're holding I may marry you and bestow upon you all my worldly goods.”

She - reading her name tag, he saw the name Linda beside a smiling face - laughed.

“Coffee’s the one thing I can always spare, cutie pie,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Hangover, huh?”

“Big enough and bad enough to beat the devil,” he sighed, shaking his head slowly to avoid vertigo. “Please kill me and bring an end to my ceaseless misery.”

“Tell you what,” she leaned down to his level. “I’ve got my own little med kit stashed away in the back. How about I bring you some ibuprofen, instead?”

“Ohh,” he moaned, lifting her hand and kissing it. “Did I say I’d marry you?”

“You sure did,” she said, amused. 

“Scratch that juvenile foolishness. Instead, I intend to build monuments and shrines in your beauteous likeness and then slay several goats at the altar in your name.”

Linda blinked several times with surprised delight as she laughed again.

“Well. You’ve certainly got a way with words, haven’t you?”

“How can I not, when I have you here to inspire me?”

“Have you got a name, too?” Linda said, beguiled by this strangely old-fashioned and extravagant man, somehow clinging to his God-given good looks despite his unhealthy pallor. “Or is it something like Casanova?”

“Mm. That’s tempting, but… tell _you_ what,” he released her hand and pointed to her. “Because I like you, you can call me Eddie.”

“Sounds like that should be an honour.”

“Oh, it sure is,” he leaned his chin on his fist. “And not one I give away cheaply.”

“I’ll treasure it,then,” she smiled and patted his shoulder. “I’ll be right back. You hang in there while I’m gone, Eddie honey.”

“_Oh, qué linda_,” he quipped with a grin, watching her go; then he groaned and rolled his head down to rest his forehead against the cool formica.

“Why did I have to drink so much,” he said, hot breath clouding the table surface, “my poor brain… ugh.”

Deciding to try some focused meditation, he closed his eyes and remained completely still for a few minutes, mentally willing his nausea and headache away while he thought only of his inhales and exhales. The world had eventually faded into the background, unhinging into a blur with the distant whine of tinnitus, when a cautious hand touched his shoulder.

“Eddie? You okay?”

At the interruption his consciousness slammed on the brakes; his eyes flew open as the world returned to rude focus with a crash. Edward was silent for a moment as he took a deep breath and stared at his own shoes.

“Juuuust…. give me one second.”

“Are you going to throw up?” Linda asked in alarm.

“No,” he said, voice muffled. “But my head feels like a lead weight. I just need to work up the strength to lift it back onto my shoulders.”

“That must’ve been some night you had,” she said, smiling.

“It sure was.”

Finally, he was able to lift his head without suffering too great a consequence and exhaled with the effort; he turned to Linda with a vague smile and a pained squint.

“Well. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, _bomboncita_.”

Giving him a fond look, Linda set down a mug in front of him and filled it; the blistering steam fogged up his glasses while the smell soothed his stomach.

“Oh, precious mistress of inestimable delight,” he groaned, gratefully wrapping one hand around the mug. 

“And, as promised,” she held out four tablets and dropped them into his other shaking hand, “the good stuff.”

Without further hesitation, Edward threw back all four and swallowed them dry. Linda raised an eyebrow, impressed.

“Not your first rodeo, huh?”

“Taken a lot of pills in my lifetime,” he grimaced, taking a sip of his coffee; he sighed with contentment and sank back in the seat. “Now that is ambrosia of the gods, _querida_.”

“Usually I see groups of people nursing a hangover together,” she said, expression concerned; Edward blinked at her, frowning in bemusement. “You weren’t drinking alone, were you, sweetie?”

“You’re such a peach for asking.”

“Were you, though?”

“Not this time,” he shook his head and rubbed at the golden red stubble on his jaw. “I’m not alone, I merely got here first. My buddy went to buy some cigarettes - he’s a nicotine slave, is that one.”

“St. Peter can wait, huh?” she winked; he chuckled.

“You betcha. Everything’s gotta stop while he has that cigarette.”

“Not the same for you?”

“No,” he smiled and lifted his mug in toast to her. “I’m a slave to naught but caffeine, admiration… and the ministering angels of bliss like yourself who constantly come to my aid despite me doing nothing to deserve you.”

“Ooh,” she said, holding up a pinching finger and thumb, “if I were just ten years younger…”

Edward took another sip of his coffee, looking over with a sly look.

“Then you’d be much too young.”

“You’re a cheeky boy,” she grinned, leaning forward to chuck him under the chin. 

“The least of my sins,” he waved a hand at the empty space opposite him. “Take a seat, if you wish. You’ve proved to be far more stimulating company than the stiff I’m waiting for.”

“I appreciate that, Eddie - but I have to get back to work.”

“Aww,” he pouted.

“Don’t worry, I’ll come back when your buddy does,” she reassured him; he smiled, letting his perfect white teeth show for the first time: he really was an obscenely endearing man. Whether he could take care of himself or not, Linda felt the irresistible urge to protect him from harm. “Then I can check on you and see what he wants at the same time.”

“I look forward to it, _mi reina_. You’ll know him by his ridiculous height and gloomy countenance that has nothing to do with hangover.”

Linda raised her eyebrows. “He's not like you, then?”

“Alas, I’m one of a kind.”

“Oh, sweetie, I knew that soon as I laid eyes on you,” she said, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze as she departed.

Edward chuckled and turned to stare out the window, resting the warm mug against his cheek.

“And that’s why I enjoy people like her,” he replied to the known world in general, who hadn’t actually asked.

***

Jon wandered down the aisle of the convenience store, wondering whether he actually wanted to eat the beef jerky or if he only wanted it to gross Ed out. Figuring the food he was about to get should be enough, he decided against it and went up to the counter to buy his cigarettes. The door jangled as someone else came in but Jon didn’t turn to look, instead focusing his attention on the TV screen that was playing silently behind the cashier while he waited: it was a football game. There was also some kind of wailing country music playing in the store that he could barely make out despite his excellent hearing, making him wonder why they couldn’t just pick one of them, music or TV: why bother with half of both? He took his cigarettes and pulled off the plastic cover, shoving the door open with his shoulder. When he finally looked up, he found himself face to face with a horse; surprised, he stumbled backward.

“What the fuck -”

He stared at the fully saddled horse, and the horse stared right back, twitching its tail back and forth like a slithering sidewinder. What the fuck was a horse doing just hanging around outside a convenience store in Pennsylvania? Did someone ride it here and then just park it out front like a damn scooter? For Christ’s sake - had he and Ed taken a wrong turn somewhere and ended up back in Texas? 

It seemed this unfamiliar horse was perfectly content to have a new human to focus on and nudged its face toward his: he put his cigarettes in his shirt pocket and with a bone-deep reflex he’d forgotten he had, he immediately raised gentle hands to stroke - he took a quick glance and saw she was a mare - her head.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured in her ear as he combed through her white-blonde mane with his fingers; she whickered and snuffled at his shoulder, resting her nose. “Come here often?”

The mare’s sleek spotted coat, coloured black and white like a Dalmatian dog, told him she was definitely an Appaloosa, and a beautiful one at that. Though hers was not one of the breeds he owned back in Georgia, she was still one he could recognise on sight. It had been a long time since he had been so close to a horse: the ones back in Calhoun he’d barely even seen when he’d been there last. Fortunately they didn’t need his help: they were taken care of and regularly ridden by someone else, since Jon spent most of his time avoiding the place.

Truth was, he’d been so blind drunk most of the time he’d hardly done anything but drink and fire potshots at the scarecrow still out in the cornfield where Elijah died. Killers always returned to the scene of their crime, didn’t they? There’d been no victory in his presence this time, only melancholy that he was stuck there again, like a prisoner: like he’d never left. The resident murder of crows that perched on the scarecrow in defiance would take off when he shot the ground near them only to come right back again, staring at him in beady-eyed reproof because Ichabod wasn’t with him. 

“I know,” he’d screamed at them, the tears in his eyes turning them into a fat, blurry stormcloud. “Don’t you think I know?”

Then he’d thrown down the gun and got drunk again. Drunk enough to forget, or at least drunk enough to push it all down and out of sight for as long as possible.

When he looked at the mare with his eyes firmly back in the present moment the beautiful horse hadn’t moved, except maybe to get closer, like she could sense the depth of his sadness.

“You make me wanna steal you away, sweetheart,” he cooed to her, “and ride off into the sunset.”

The mare’s ears were alert, facing him and looking like she was listening to his every word; her tail sat flat and relaxed.

“Trust me, don’t you?” he stroked her silky neck as she nodded against his chest; he dropped his own head to kiss the middle of her forehead. “Must be the only one in this world who does.”

Looking into her deep chocolate eyes, Jon felt a pang of… what? He blinked, confused. For want of a better description, he felt homesick. But that wasn’t right - homesick for what, exactly? He had barely even had a home, let alone one that was worth missing. He’d have to be even more mentally ill than previously diagnosed to miss Calhoun and all that went with it. Wait, what was that other word, that one that’s like homesickness? Nostalgia. Something about this horse had triggered an ache in his gut that felt like sadness, like the loss of something irrecoverable.

No less confused for having pinpointed the feeling, he dropped his hands and took a defensive step away when the owner of the horse finally came out of the store.

“Looks like she likes you, man.”

Turning, Jon saw a cowboy-looking guy smiling at him affably and stuffing jerky in his mouth, not looking angry at all.

“Guess so,” he grunted, taking another step back because the mare had shuffled close again.

“And she’s usually such a skittish l’il thing,” the guy went on, hooking his foot in the stirrup and mounting up. “Must like your smell, or the cut of your jib, or somethin’.”

Jon felt her hot breath on his skin as she nuzzled at the scarred side of his face; he stroked her neck one more time.

“What’s her name?”

“Bonnie,” the guy replied.

“Bye, Bonnie darlin’,” Jon murmured in her ear, so low only she could hear it; she dropped her head and thumped him in the chest.

Then the guy lifted the reins and turned her around, breaking the spell. 

“You have a good one, eh?”

“Yeah,” Jon said with a nod, watching them trot away down the road.

Once they were out of sight, he took out a cigarette and lit it with a quick swipe of Ed’s Zippo across his jeans. Jon smoked the whole thing in contemplative silence, staring into space; then he let the cigarette fall to the ground where he ground it out with his boot. 

“Well, that was weird,” he said, breathing out the last puff.

The diner they were meeting at was just across the street. When Jon looked, he could see the glint of what could only be Ed’s red hair from where he sat in a booth seat under the window. There was a waitress with him, who then leaned forward to touch his face.

“Just can’t help himself,” he muttered, briefly looking both ways before crossing the street in a few long strides in the direction of the diner. “Let’s see if his hungover brain is up for questions, or if he’s still whinin’ that he’s dyin’.”

He was about to go in when he saw his friend staring out of the window like some wistful Brontë character waiting for her man to come home from the war. Having decided it was better to give in to his whims rather than not, he rapped sharply on the window, spooking him. When Edward realised who it was he gave him the finger; Jon cheerfully returned the gesture and went inside.

***

Jon slid into the booth opposite Edward, sized him up and laughed.

“Lookin’ rough, princess.”

Edward glared over his coffee.

“Fuck off,” he snarled. “Not all of us are pre-pickled like a cadaver.”

Still snickering, Jon grabbed a nearby menu and gave it the once-over.

“You eatin’?”

“No,” Edward’s face soured. “But feel free to make up for my lack.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

At that moment Linda reappeared, tipping up Edward’s chin to give him a quick inspection before glancing over at Jon with a polite smile. Jon watched his companion, amused, as the waitress provided him with his own mug of coffee. 

“Huh. Well he’s more cheerful than you described,” she said, resting a hand on the crown of Edward’s head; the man himself was leaning further in her direction with every passing moment like a building sapped with dry rot.

“That’s because he’s relishing every tiny fragment of my suffering, _mi corazón_,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Then he’s definitely a friend,” she laughed, pulling her notepad out of her apron. “What can I get for you, Eddie’s friend?”

Jon blinked, surprised for the second time in recent memory; he shot Edward an inquisitive look, who merely returned a serene smile as he sat like a cream-stuffed cat under Linda’s caressing hand. 

“It’s Jon, if we’re doin’ names.”

“I say, I don’t often see a Southern gentleman,” Linda remarked; Edward snorted out a laugh.

“You’re half right.”

“Shush, you,” she scolded, carding her hand through his hair and then pulling a pencil from behind her ear; he chuckled and didn't push it, to Jon’s disbelief.

“Alright, lessee,” he said, jabbing at the page, “I’mma get the sausage, gravy, and biscuits with two fried eggs…”

“Hash browns or home fries?”

“_And_.”

“Alright, sugar. Anything else?”

“Four stack. Aaaannd, on top of that…”

“Dear God, you’re disgusting,” Edward groaned, skin shifting into a sickly green; he heaved and covered his mouth.

“There we go,” Jon laughed.

“Just a sec, sweetie - hang on.”

Linda took off at high speed while Jon watched Edward swallow hard, cold sweat prickling his forehead; he hoped to revel further in his misery but unfortunately the woman was back in no time at all, briskly dumping Alka-Seltzer tabs in a tall glass of water. The water fizzed as she pressed it into this trembling hand. 

“Get that down,” she ordered. “Quick now.”

Doing as he was told, Edward downed the contents and handed back the glass, shuddering as he recovered both his composure and a degree of natural colour.

“Thank you,” he rasped, clasping her hand and kissing it.

“No trouble at all,” she smiled; she turned back to Jon, who was ruefully shaking his head. “Sorry, what else would you like, sugar?”

“Oh yeah,” he remembered, pointing at the menu. “Corned beef hash. That oughta do it.”

“Comin’ right up.”

Linda looked over and pushed Edward’s hair out of his eyes.

“How do you feel now?”

“Better, thanks to you,” he said, offering up a vulnerable version of his winning smile. 

“Good,” she said, pleased. “Don’t let him get to you.”

Linda bustled off; Jon threw him a mocking look and kicked him under the table.

“Yeah, Eddie. Listen to mama.”

“You know, I think I just might,” he said, cradling his coffee between his hands with a benign expression; after a pause, he viciously kicked him back. “Fucking shit stirrer.”

“Still got a little fight in you,” Jon grinned through a wince. “So, you started collectin’ mother figures, or what?”

Edward grimaced. “That’s a dime-store psychoanalysis, even for you.”

“What d’you call it?”

“Sometimes I like to be coddled when I’m weak and feeble,” he shrugged. “Happily, Linda seems more than happy to indulge me. Is that enough of an explanation for you?”

“Spend so much damn time butterin’ ‘em up… and for what? What’s the point?”

“Oh Jon, you’re so boring sometimes,” Edward replied, staring down into his coffee.

“Thanks. You actually feelin’ better?”

"Maybe,” he raised an ironic eyebrow, “are you planning on making me nauseous again?”

“Nah. Seein’ if you’re up to questions.”

“Interrogative, or philosophical? Because I think I can only muster the patience for the latter.”

“Philosophical, I think.”

“Alright,” he sighed. “Knock yourself out.”

“D’you think,” Jon enunciated, picking his words so as to get his proper intention across, “you can be nostalgic for somewhere that never existed?”

Edward stared at him and blinked.

“What?”

“Somethin’ weird happened at the store.”

“Did you get robbed? That’s not so weird,” he yawned and stretched his neck. “Pathetic, but not weird.”

“Nah, wasn’t that. When I left, there was a horse.”

“Saddled or wild?”

"Saddled. Appaloosa. Casual as you like, just waitin’ outside.”

Edward squinted at Jon like he’d gone out of focus. 

“Someone _parked_ their _horse?_”

“Same thing I thought - reckoned we were in Texas for a minute.”

“That is weird. Where’s the nostalgic bit?”

“Hangin’ out with the horse made me feel like I was missin’ somethin’ I’d lost and would never get back.”

“But you hated your childhood.”

“Yeah, I did. So explain that to me, Mr. Kant.”

“Hey,” Edward pointed across at Jon, offended. “Immanuel Kant was the worst philosopher you could have brought up - he was so boring you could have set your watch by him.”

“My mistake,” Jon shrugged with an unrepentant grin. “Thoughts?”

“Give me a minute,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m functioning at a low ebb this morning.”

Fortunately Linda chose that moment to bring Jon his vast array; Edward looked on in distaste but was relieved to present no further ill-effects. Smiling, she rested one hand on his shoulder and refilled his coffee.

“You should try to eat. Sure I can’t get you anything, sweetie?”

“I’m sure,” he said, face relaxing. “Thank you, though.”

“Anything I can do, you just let me know. Promise?”

“I promise.”

Linda turned to Jon.

“You better not have eyes bigger than your stomach, Beauregard,” she warned. “I wanna see those plates clean when I get back.”

Jon gave her a devilish grin. “Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

After giving Edward a pinch on the chin, she left again.

“Why can’t my middle name be Beauregard?” Jon complained, attacking his food with gusto. “What a name that’d be.”

“You could change it at literally any time.”

“Nah, slap another name on top and I’d still be the same underneath.”

“Very insightful.”

“Ulysses I was made, and Ulysses I’ll stay,” he looked up, chewing. “Brain workin’ yet?”

“More or less,” Edward leaned forward, slowly rubbing his hands together. “Alright. Nostalgia is a sentimental concern - largely useless and comparable to a millstone about your neck if you let it, because it encourages circular behaviour and lethargy.”

“What has that got to do with the horse?”

“Just wait,” he waved an irritated hand. “It’s possible you felt sadness for a loss of innocence associated with your youth. You used to ride horses, didn’t you?”

“Never had an Appaloosa.”

“Did this horse like you?”

“Yeah, she did. Didn’t fuss or bite, let me touch her like she trusted me.”

Edward fell silent and stared at the tabletop; Jon pointed at him with his fork.

“Out with it, poker face.”

“It could be,” he said, “that since animals were the closest friends you used to have, rediscovering the simple act of connecting with one caused you pain.”

Jon gave him an unimpressed look.

“Maybe,” he grunted.

“Nostalgia is supposed to inspire togetherness. A common bond. Seems to me it would only inspire you to become more isolated.”

“Only a problem if you don’t like bein’ isolated,” Jon replied, pushing another clean plate away and starting on the last one; puzzled, Edward rested his chin on one hand and frowned.

“Have you been reading _One Hundred Years of Solitude?_”

“Ain’t that about incest?”

Edward winced. “Yeah, and _Slaughterhouse-Five_ was about aliens.”

“Ahh,” Jon grinned, looking up. “I see what you did there.”

Triumphant, finally sated, he polished off his final plate and set his knife and fork down. Edward looked over and sighed.

“You sicken me.”

“And you love it.”

On cue, Linda appeared.

“Atta boy,” she grinned, giving Jon an approving glance as she collected up the dishes. “I don’t know where you put it all, but that sure is something impressive.”

“‘S a gift, ma’am,” Jon touched his forelock with the knuckles of his first two fingers, smirking.

“Would you like your bill, now?”

“I’ll take it,” Edward said, pulling out his wallet. “Since he only bites off more than he can chew where money is concerned.”

“I see,” she smiled. “One sec, then.”

“No, wait,” he got up, briefly wobbled, then steadied himself. “I’ll come with you.”

Linda looked up at him with a nod. “Well, look at you. Finally got yourself straight?”

“Ohh, not quite,” he said, stepping out of the booth and holding out an arm. “Would you mind escorting me to your cash register, fair lady? Just in case my equilibrium decides to suddenly betray me and make me look the fool.”

“It’d be my pleasure,” she laughed, linking her arm through his.

Jon watched them leave, narrowing his eyes in scrutiny. When she presented him with the tab Edward ignored whatever it was and forced a handful of bills into the woman’s hand, waving off her protestations with a smile. In return she forced a banana into his hands, covering them with hers when he laughed. He bent his head to kiss her cheek, probably whispering some of his purple prose nonsense to her that Jon couldn’t hear. 

Linda gave him an affectionate, almost sad look as Edward made his way back, face tight with focus. When he got to the booth, he rapped Jon on the shoulder with the back of his hand.

“Let’s hit the road, cowpoke.”

“Yeah, alright.” Jon unfolded himself out of the booth, dusting off stray crumbs as he shot Edward a sly glance. “Need a hand?”

“Not from you. You’ll just push me down some stairs.”

“Hey, I might not.”

“Regardless, I’ll forego the risk. Shall we?”

“Yeah.”

At the threshold of the door, Edward turned and raised his hand; Linda did the same and then blew him a kiss. Once they were outside, Jon assumed driving position and caught the tossed keys in one hand.

“She’s a good woman,” he said; Edward nodded his agreement as he shut the passenger door.

“There’s still a couple of genuinely good-hearted people around, if you care to find them.”

“Yeah, usually in coloured spandex.”

“Please,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “They do what they do for their own reasons, not because they’re good-hearted.”

“Like what reasons?”

Edward started ticking off the options on his hand. “Duty. Tradition. Sanctimoniousness. Revenge…” he splayed out his fingers. “Pick one.”

“You sound more cynical than me.”

“When you know people who are still kind even after they’ve seen how awful the world is, the so-called good guys are thrown into sharp relief.”

“Like your sister?”

“Shut up about my sister,” he turned with a tight, impatient smile. “Alright?”

“Alright,” he shrugged, starting the car; he looked over, gesturing with his head. “So what’s with the banana?”

“It’s for my hangover,” he laughed. “She insisted.”

***

They only had about an hour before they would arrive in Gotham proper, but Jon had no intention of rushing it. Hair whipping around his forehead with the window open, Edward finally seemed to have rallied his energies; he was certainly looking more alert as he ate his gifted banana. 

“You think if I throw this peel out of the window,” he mused, “a car will spin out on it and crash?”

“Maybe if we were in a Buster Keaton movie,” Jon said, pulling the car to a stop with a distracted grimace at the side of the road.

“What is that?” Edward frowned, sitting up to look across into the ditch.

“Looks like a… Ford Escort.”

“On fire.”

“Very much so.”

They watched the car blaze for a moment, transfixed.

“Is there anyone in it?”

“Don’t see anythin’.”

While their attentions were focused elsewhere, something ran across the road in front of the vehicle. By the time they had turned to check it out, it was much too late to see anything: whatever it was, it was gone. Edward looked at the ruffling trees on the opposite side and frowned.

“You get the number of that unidentified object?”

“Hopin’ you did.”

They paused, staring at the woods, willing something to show itself.

“Should we check it out?”

“Hell no,” Edward shook his head. “That’s how horror movies get started. Just drive.”

“Yeah,” Jon nodded and hit the gas. “You’re probably right. Don’t have time for that.”

“Next thing you know we’ll find a hitchhiker on the road. Maybe he’ll be the owner of that car, maybe he won’t be. We’ll stop for him and give him a ride out of the goodness of our hearts -”

“Big joke.”

“And he turns out to be an escaped serial killer.”

“Almost worth it to hunt the guy down and find out.”

“Oh yeah?”

“It’s flippin’ a script, ain’t it. We’re not innocent commuters.”

“We’d be defying a cliché? Hm, go on.”

“I wanna see how a regular old murderer could stand up to a wacko who tortures people in puzzle mazes -”

“And a nutjob who pops a boner every time someone gets spooked,” he smirked; reaching out one arm, Jon gave Edward a half-hearted smack. “Well, at least we understand each other.” 

“Tell me that’s not a movie you’d watch.”

“Oh yeah, I’d give it a shot.”

“Get on that, moneybags.”

“First chance I get. Hey, look up ahead - some people have broken down up there.”

Jon squinted. “Oh yeah. Want me to stop?”

“Uhh... no,” Edward scrutinised the cluster of people staring at their overturned hatchback; occasionally they looked out into the road. “Drive faster - didn’t you see that?”

“See what?”

“Wife, husband, three kids…”

“All I got to see was a grandmother in probably her best hat.”

“And you know that’s nothing but trouble.”

“If you call yourself a misfit, sure,” Jon’s eyes were lit with mirth. 

“I knew you knew that story,” he grinned. “If we stopped to help them, the grandmother would recognise your face from the papers, call you out for being a fugitive, and then we’d have to shoot every last one of them on principle.”

“Mm. And no one would learn a damn thing.”

“So it goes, in Southern Gothic.”

“Not in the South anymore.”

“Maybe the gothic is following you wherever you go: you are rather a magnet for the eldritch and occult.”

“Like a curse,” he sighed. “Just my luck.”

“Or maybe you’re simply a cryptid.”

“This you callin’ me a wendigo, again?”

“Could be,” he grinned, “but I figured you to be just about frightening enough on your own.”

“Pennsylvania already has Bigfoot, chupacabras, and Squonks - they don’t need me.”

“Oh God,” he laughed, “I forgot about Squonks. Aren’t they the pig-looking things that don’t fit in their own skin?”

“Yeah, and cry all the time.”

“Somehow, that’s far stranger than you.”

“How sweet,” he said. “Guess I’ll just have to keep my curse movin’.”

A rest stop hove into view up ahead; Edward sat up and pointed at it.

“Hey, could you stop at that rest stop?”

“Should’ve gone before we left,” he drawled in a sing-song tone.

“No, I need to shave,” he rubbed at his chin with irritation.

“Must be feelin’ better, if you wanna look pretty again.”

“Yep. The sincerity of a good woman and I’m fit to take on the world again.”

“We should all be so lucky,” he said, turning in and shutting off the car. “I’m gonna get somethin’ to eat while you primp yourself.”

“Get me some more coffee, will you? And water,” he said, slapping money into his outstretched palm. “Give me the keys, I’ll drive the last little bit.”

“Alright,” he agreed, getting out of the car and wandering off.

Edward grabbed his grooming kit out of the trunk and took himself off to the washroom. In no time at all he returned, pressed, coiffed, and smelling of _Eau Sauvage_. Taking a moment’s pause, he ran a couple of fingers over his smooth jaw, admiring his reflection in some glass windows.

“Mm, much better,” he said. “Fit for killing ladies instead of attracting widows and mothers.”

When he got back to the Buick, Jon was devouring a hamburger with both hands, a spare one stuffed into his shirt pocket. Edward laughed.

“They’ll say I never feed you,” he lamented, getting back in the driver’s seat.

“Jus’ makin’ the most of it,” he said, mouth full; he nodded toward the dashboard, where a cup of coffee and a bottle of water waited.

“Thanks,” Edward said, cracking open the bottle then drinking the entire contents in one draught. Jon looked at him curiously as he took a deep breath in. “Needed that,” he gasped, crushing the bottle and disposing of it in a bag he kept in the back seat.

“Hey,” Jon said, swallowing.

“Hm?” Edward turned.

“Have you noticed that things are gettin’ weirder, the closer we get to Gotham?”

“Like the car, the thing on the road, the broken down family?”

“And the horse.”

“I had noticed that, yes.”

“You wanna turn back?”

Edward scrutinised his expression, attempting to ascertain whether or not he was joking: he seemed as serious as he could get.

“Believe me,” he sighed, turning on the ignition. “I’ve been tempted.”

“Could see if your nurse has room for two,” he said, lifting his eyebrows suggestively; Edward laughed.

“Get your own nurses. I’m not your all-access pass to women you can’t usually get.”

“Ah ah,” he waved a finger, “not can’t. _Don’t_ usually get.”

“As you wish,” he pulled the car back onto the highway. “But my point still stands.”

Jon shot Edward a sidelong glance that he could see but didn’t return.

“Got no choice, huh?”

“Nope,” he shook his head, not looking thrilled about it.

“Forward momentum it is, then.”

“For better or worse.”

They drove on in silence; after a time, Jon withdrew his second burger, unwrapped and attacked it. Edward turned to look, smiling.

“I know you only have a couple of taste buds left, but would you say it’s at least kind of good?”

“Mm. ‘S a tasty burger.”

“Hey, that reminds me.”

“Mmmf?”

“Have you ever seen that movie, Pulp Fiction?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is where the timeline joins up; this is where the journey ends.


End file.
